


Magnolia In An Icestorm: A Mycroft Holmes Love Story

by MusingsOfOphelia



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock BBC, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Internal Monologue, International Relations, Murder Mystery, Mycroft-centric, Original Character Death(s), Overprotective Mycroft, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 82
Words: 109,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8308768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusingsOfOphelia/pseuds/MusingsOfOphelia
Summary: Charlotte Ruth Montgomery was debutante and a Savannah belle that dreamed of life abroad. Behind closed doors, her wealthy parents are abusive and her life is far from the fairytale it appears to be. Shipped off to Cambridge at 12 she remains silent about her abusive home life in an effort to keep using her family's money to pay for a top notch education and leave Savannah forever. By twenty-five she lands a doctorate in Literature with a minor in Musical Theatre from New York University of Fine Arts. When the cast is invited to perform their show, Jekyll and Hyde at the Grand Royal Theatre in West End, Charlie decides to make her home in London to find stardom on West End's elite stages once the tour is over and the rest of the cast flies back home. Quickly she finds herself at the center of a murder investigation and steals the heart of one Mycroft Holmes, the Iceman. Romance ensues, but many are out to harm Mycroft, a man whose only weakness was his younger brother. He exposes his pressure point and in the process the woman he loves more than life itself. Can this Southern Magnolia weather the Icestorm with the Iceman himself?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a MAJOR rip off of my story Shattering Illusions, probably word for word in certain chapters. I wanted to put a different spin on the story and try writing from first person point of view. Also wanted to make my own character and I just felt so stuck in Shattering Illusions. So here I am coming at it from a different angle. We shall see how it goes. Tell me how you like it or what you don't like! I always appreciate feedback.

_Heart racing with fear. Sharp, shallow breaths seizing in my chest._  
_Words exploding like gunfire, the smell of vodka heavy in the air._  
_Dad found Mom's stash of the white powdery medicine she puts in her nose._  
_She thinks I told him, the bedroom door crashes open with a crack._  
_Mom snatches my arm, her grip like an icy vice, the bruises popping up quickly._  
_She kicks me down the stairs, slaps my face when I cry._  
_She'll teach me how taddle tales get treated._  
_I swear she will kill me one day, but I use my forearms to block her blows_  
_Then, her sharp Donna Karen heel is flying towards my stomach and right when she kicks me I lurch- ___

__I sat straight up in bed inhaling gulps of air like a fish out of water, comforter still clutched in my fists and pressed against my chest. I was soaked in a disgusting layer of sweat that left my pink plaid boxer shorts and gray tank top stuck to me in the most uncomfortable of ways, the cotton all twisted and sticking in all the wrong places to my skin. Looking around my small one bedroom in Queens, I saw the darkened outline of all my boxes still packed, the room nearly void of anything but cardboard and my panting to catch my breath. Puffing out my cheeks and slinging myself back to the bed I flailed my arms out and closed my eyes to see if the images were still there. Still clinging to my subconscious I saw them vividly, so I decided to get up and try my other method of pushing them back down. I padded over to the full length mirror hanging over my now empty closet door and looked into my own bright emerald eyes._ _

__"I am strong. I am smart. I am beautiful. I am proud of who I am, because I fought to become her. I'm proud of who I am, because I fought to become her. I'm proud of who I am, I fought to become her." I repeated my mantra looking straight into my own fierce reflection and found the racing in my heart began to desist. It was no wonder they had resurfaced, those memories always did whenever I was under any kind of stress. And I was. I had decided to move to London tomorrow, even though the rest of the cast would be flying back home after our tour of Jekyll and Hyde was done. I would be completely alone in a brand new city, inside a new apartment on Baker Street._ _

__Smiling and confident in my decisions, I pulled the faded photo from the corner of the mirror. It was my college premier as Mimi from Rent, my bestfriend Kendrick had played Mark and Kat, Katherine Nash, was Maureen. I was still under aged, nineteen to be exact but we were in a seedy bar in the Village and I was drunk off of cheap wine for our cast party. Kendrick was posed provocatively and bent over between myself and Kat, while we made obscene hand gestures. Everyone was feeling the Boheme spirit that night. It reminded me how much I had defied the statistics of children from abusive homes. In truth, I probably should have had extensive therapy for what I'd been through, but more than that I hated talking about what happened to me. We all have our demons and ghosts, mine are no different. Likewise, this isn't _fifty shades of grey_ and I don't have some intense need to beat anyone with a cane for what my parents put me through. That's not therapy. Neither is talking to some stranger in some chair with a pencil and paper who has no idea how I cope or who I am. _ _

__More to the point, the nightmares only come up when I'm stressed, because they really aren't nightmares, they're memories surfacing from my subconscious when the walls weaken just enough in REM cycle. What can I say? I read a few books on this and during finals week, I've had to pull a few psychological tricks to prevent myself from mentally melting down from those resurfacing terror tantrums. The thing is, I may have been stressed but I knew I was doing the right thing. I had always wanted to study abroad, and while leaving Savannah for New York had been a big change, now I needed something bigger. London had called to me from the silver screen and its brilliantly lit West End stages since I first began theatre at six. I started young because when I tried to join choir I quickly learned I had a knack for belting and couldn't quite soften myself enough to sing with the group. Plus, extra curriculars meant more time away from home, and for a kid like me there was nothing better. But I was offered a great job at a small museum in London, offering literary lectures on the great works of the ages, and I'd get to study and decipher original texts from the likes of Shakespeare, Jane Austen and many many more classic authors whose words have lived on decades after their bodies have decomposed. It is the opportunity of the lifetime. And while I'm doing that for steady income, I'll be auditioning for every role I can, sans British accent to add variety to the London theater scene._ _

__Thinking over how my life would change tomorrow, I felt that flutter of excitement and decided I should sleep. Grueling rehearsals and then the premier in two nights meant I'd need extra rest and relaxation. Singers have notoriously weaker immune systems and the last thing I needed was something putting a stopper in my peppy step._ _

__

__The woman's body was carved like a human jack-o-lantern and placed center stage, a single white spotlight shining down on the gruesome scene. Detective Inspector Lestrade, the silver fox, ran a hand over his crew cut hair and did a mental count of the victims. Four leading ladies in a month, all of them carved and lain in the spotlight of this theatre, by their hand a red rose and a note from the Phantom. He rolled his eyes knowing Anderson would dust for prints and find nothing, Donovan would make biased guesses at a suspect and another show would close early, the understudy too afraid to take the place of the woman laying on the polished hardwood floor. Fishing his mobile from his pocket he dialed the one person he knew would be excited to find their killer had stricken again._ _

__"Detective Inspector I had thought you'd forgotten about me." the deep baritone crooned into the speaker._ _

__"He's done it again, another leading lady. Better get down here if you wanna take a look. Anderson's ready to bag her." Lestrade said, biting his lip and a hand tucked into his pocket. There was no response on the other end of the line, so he pocketed his mobile and tried to stall so Sherlock could take a look and find his clues._ _

__At 221B Sherlock flung his coat on in a single graceful movement and kept the collar high against his sharp cheek bones. He was grinning as he sent a text to his dear friend John Watson, knowing once they were at the theatre John would reprimand him for smiling in the face of another brutal murder. Still, serial killers were his favorite, their sentiment and poetry moving, they were artists and they always made mistakes due to their unfailing dramatics. This would be the last corpse ofcourse, Sherlock Holmes hadn't met a case he couldn't crack, and four murders were three too many._ _

__Outside of The Theatre Royal Drury Lane, a taxi pulled up and from the back door emerged the short and fair haired John Watson. Sherlock looked him over and realized from the state of his dress and the dilation of his pupils that his friend had just been copulating with the recently pregnant Mrs. Watson. John rubbed his hands together against the early spring chill and approached the tall, slim and brooding Sherlock._ _

__"Do give Mary my regards and inform her that I'm pleased to find the pregnancy is going well enough to participate in your favorite physical activity." Sherlock muttered with a sideways quirk of his lips._ _

__"Still baffles me when you do that. And I'm not telling her that." he said, wanting to punch him in the face but, at the same time excited to be on a case with the consulting detective again. Domestic life was not suiting him._ _

__In usual Sherlock fashion, he pushed the doors open, disregarded the beauty and opulence of the ancient and gorgeous theatre. He trounced about the body and the stage muttering to himself and using his sliding glass to view closer details. With glove bound hands he read the note from "The Phantom", eyed the rose by it carefully. He called Anderson an idiot, referred to Greg as Gary, strode through the dressing rooms and props areas, paraded across the upper stair well and for all intensive purposes seemed to be doing nothing at all. But he was. Observation had been key in nearly every case solved by the infamous detective. As usual the Detective Inspector questioned his findings and he responded with, "Loads."._ _

__Once back outside of the Theatre, Sherlock noted the country green jaguar sitting by the curb, and as he turned his attention to John the eldest Holmes brother emerged._ _

__"So, what do you think?" John asked him, hands in his jacket pockets, brows furrowed._ _

__"I think we have a very dramatic serial killer on our hands." he said to his friend, "I must go compose and put this together."._ _

__"Pot calling the kettle black." John muttered before his attention was pulled to the three piece suited man tapping his umbrella against the pavement._ _

__"Ah brother mine, how glad I am to have caught you." Mycroft said with a tight smile. Sherlock merely scoffed._ _

__"You knew I'd be here. You knew for how long." Sherlock told him, eyes narrowed._ _

__"I'm here to bring it to your attention that this case has now become a matter of national importance." he told him, voice even and face stoic as ever._ _

__"What for?" Sherlock asked, sounding every bit the irritated brat._ _

__"The New York University of Fine Arts is bringing its presentation of Jekyll and Hyde to the theatre and should one of them end up dead it will cause a great deal of strife for myself. I plan to have MI6 coerce the leading ladies to assist us in monitoring the performances and help us capture the guilty party." Mycroft told him._ _

__"I don't need your meddling Mycroft. And I do not care about what would be an inconvenience to you." Sherlock said mockingly, before turning and striding to the street corner to hail a cab back to Baker Street._ _


	2. Chapter 2

Geared up for my long flight from JFK to London, I dressed the next morning in comfortable dark jeans, kelly green high neck tank top and warm navy cardigan. As I shoved my toothbrush and last minute items into my carry on, I stumbled into my cognac ankle booties. I threw my hair into a messy bun and lightly decorated my face with foundation, mascara, a slight of blush and cherry colored chap stick. In my suitcases was what was left after purging my closet and donating to Goodwill, and my extensive library was boxed up meticulously for the shipping company to come by and pick up. I wouldn't see Manhattan again for a very long time if I had it my way. Still, this apartment had been home for a long time, and I heaved a sigh as I took one last reminiscent look at the blank khaki walls once adorned with all of my photos and memories from college and Cambridge. In just a few hours time, across an ocean this little Southern Belle was going to be a London resident.

On the plane I sat next to Kendrick, the man who stole my heart and simultaneously broke it in two when I was fourteen years old. At Cambridge I immediately threw myself into their incredible fine arts program and junior year auditioned for Little Shop of Horrors. Kendrick was the Seymour to my Audrey from the beginning, and our instant chemistry at auditions put us as the leading roles that spring. He had been my cheerleader, my confidante, my biggest fan, and if he hadn't absolutely adored tiny blonde boys he would have been my soulmate. At the time we met he was a lanky and awkward boy, with gorgeous caramel skin, a head of brown frizzy curls and brown eyes filled with mischief. Now, he was buff but still golden skinned, those brown frizzy curls had smoothed into gorgeous darker waves, but his brown eyes and sharp chin still gave him his puckish appearance. 

"My little Dorothy moving to Oz! Destined to become London's first American West End sensation!" Kendrick said, rubbing his hands quickly over my thighs and grasping my fingers tight. I laughed at his all too familiar dramatics and contagious optimism. I would miss him terribly when he went back home. We settled into our seats quietly as the plane took off. Suddenly he slid his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me close. 

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, concern puckering between his black brows and his eyes fixed firmly with mine. He was worried about me of course, we'd both learned about one another's dark past and decided we would take care of each other, because we were all we had and that was far more than anyone had ever done for us before.

"I've honestly never been more sure of anything in my life. This is going to be incredible. A dream come true." I told him firmly around a grin, never breaking eye contact and squeezing his hands right back. 

A little jet lagged and several hours later, Kendrick and I parted ways as he took a double decker bus to the hotel with the rest of the cast and I grabbed a taxi to my new apartment at building 234 apartment J on Baker Street, mere minutes from West End. I was lucky to afford the place, but I received a pretty nice bonus from my new lecturing job and the apartment was supposedly haunted. The ghost was a murder victim from a few weeks ago and I decided to forgo the more gruesome details and sign the lease. The ghosts of my past and I got a long relatively well, so I figured what's one more to join the party? 

As the cab rolled down the road, even the rainy, cloudy, London weather couldn't drown my good mood. I was starry eyed, enchanted that even in the rain everything glittered and the city was just as beautiful as it had looked in movies and paintings. I felt alive, excited and thrilled. This was my home. This city is where I would build my future, my life after college. I'd perform on stage, I'd eloquently speak on my favorite works and wrap everyone around my finger with my sweet southern charm. True, most of my accent had long since gone and could be heard vaguely in my vowels on occasion, but that breeding and all those mannerisms never left you. Neither did that southern sass, which was a little unfortunate at times when it gets me into those insert foot in mouth situations. 

My new apartment was already furnished, the living room had bright Caribbean blue walls and a cozy red leather couch. There was a wall devoted entirely to cherry wood book cases and on the opposite wall was two large open windows for allowing in natural light on pretty sunny days. The kitchen and the rest of the apartment had light gray walls, and once in the bedroom I unpacked my vacuum sealed charcoal comforter set, making up the bed with my mint colored sheets and coral throw pillows. I opened the doors to my Juliette balcony and briefly took in the smell of the London rain, before closing the doors and investigating the bathroom. It had a large vanity and mirror lit with dressing room style lights, a large garden tub and shower. It was perfect.

I unpacked my costume so it could hang in my new closet and so all of the wrinkles could release themselves before the premiere. I used my teapot to make some hot water with lemon, and had just sat down to sip it and quietly check my e-mails when I broke out into a clammy sweat. Stomach cramping I lunged into my bathroom and started puking until there was nothing left. That was my luck, as soon as I arrive in a city I couldn't wait to explore, I end up with a stomach bug. Since I was usually out of commission for twenty-four hours, I took it upon myself to contact Director Slade to see if he could just rehearse Ken and Kat's scenes this evening, that I promised I'd be at my best the following opening night.

I spent the rest of my first day in London tossing cookies and trying to hold down saltines, while unbeknownst to me, the city's finest were priming my co stars for protection and monitoring them with wires in case of an attack from a violent serial killer.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft took his seat within one of the royal boxes high above the stage, umbrella perched against the railing and blackberry at hand to continue his work. He had been informed the leading lady, Katherine Nash, would report any odd encounters that might present themselves and was wired with a mobile device to activate when any persons of suspicion approached her before and after the performance. Everything was in place and he knew the seat assignment of every MI6 agent on duty tonight. He was confident that between Sherlock and his secret service this case would be rapidly coming to a close and the murderer reprimanded. Sitting back in the plush chair, he ordered a glass of his favorite port and began to settle for a boring night of American theatre. True to his country Mother England, and the fact it was the birthplace of the greatest playwrights in history, Mycroft Holmes harbored low expectations and a bored and stoic expression as the curtain rose and the music began.

I loved the initial blast from the orchestra when the opening number begins. I can feel everyone around me, their nerves and excitement, the raw thrill as they pounce onto their entrances and begin. It's amazing to watch and not be the in the opening act, you get to witness the shedding of the actor's true self and as they cross the threshold into the wings they are already in character. It's like watching a butterfly emerge from a cocoon, pure magic. Everyone was full of life and energy tonight, and although I could sense their nerves at the new audience halfway across the world, I felt their determination. It gave me pause before completely pumping me up. I stood there listening, feeling the cues dressed in the red and black brocade corset that accentuated my tiny waist and ample chest, fishnets and thin black bustled skirt. I shook out my fingers and bounced in my dance heels in an effort to calm and excite myself simultaneously. Closing my eyes, I became Lucy, the girl who sold her body for money to eat, singing in a club for men who had taken advantage of her nearly all of her life. She had a song, _Good 'n Evil_ and unbeknownst to her she would be singing the song to a man whom had perfected a formula to divide the two from man. I eyed Kendrick, handsome as always and saw him as the gentle and sweet Dr. Jekyll. Then I heard my cue, inhaled and sauntered onto stage, Charlie gone and Lucy in full swing.

Just as he had settled back into his seat with a fresh glass of Macallan single malt, neat, his attention was demanded by the beautiful creature that had just entered centre stage with a voice like a siren call. She was dark and mysterious, beautiful beyond reason and glowed like a fallen angel under the spotlight. Auburn hair glimmered in gorgeous curls over ivory skin, green eyes ignited like fiery emeralds when the stage lights hit her just so. Her movements were natural and unforced, and for a moment he forgot she was acting, was merely an actress playing a role. Mycroft had been attracted to various women from his powerful position, all of them well-educated in politics and social graces, and to his satisfaction in bed, but never had he been so stricken upon first glance by a woman. He immediately knew he wanted to know the beautiful creature on stage, the femininity of every inch of her causing every bit of male within him to rise. These were all the thoughts that raced through his brilliant mind before it occurred to him that he had not been aware of the actress' existence prior to this night which meant she did not have proper MI6 debriefing nor protection against the potential serial killer.

By the second act Mycroft had stepped out during intermission to purchase two dozen white roses for the beautiful woman's stirring performance in the first act, then reading through the Playbill he had not yet given a second thought to, read her short bio to decipher what he could from her headshot and what she chose to allow the audience to know about her.

During "A New Life" I was belting to the rafters, the words ringing true to both Lucy and my new move to a new home in London. This was my favorite song from the show, the part where the rough and street wise courtesan revealed to the audience her soft and vulnerable side. I knew my eyes were brighter than they'd ever been as I eased down the stage bed into the spotlight on my knees and every note was perfect, rich and belting in all the right moments and shimmering and soft in others. This was a skill that had taken weeks of rehearsal to perfect, to soften and then belt again with precision. Kat had helped me long after rehearsals were done in her apartment bathroom, never letting me give up, pressing rewind for each note I missed. For a moment I even allowed myself to dream of my Dr. Jekyll, swooping in and making me fall in love with his gentlemanly manners and soft touch and intelligence beyond measure. I had no idea but I had a gorgeous pair of cerulean eyes in the face of the ice man upon my stellar solo, held by my every gesture and breath. When Hyde caressed me close and swiftly murdered me in the stage bed with a quick knife in the back, he let out an audible gasp as a tightening sensation seized his chest, the expression of terror shocking to the very man who never showed such emotion. Kendrick had just killed me, and I was carted off the stage in a wheel barrel, to further drive home the sadness of Lucy's brutal murder, that no one could have saved her, and in no way would anyone care.

I felt really good about my London debut, and I could tell my voice was husky and worn from the belting and my blood was full of oxygen. I was high, heart racing in my chest, adrenaline making me shake a little. I loved the high from performing, there was absolutely nothing like it, it was like skydiving for some people. Before I knew it we were doing curtain call, and as the leads Kendrick, Kat and I took our bows arm in arm, Ken in the center of us. I laughed, bubbling with joy at my friend's, their performances beyond phenomenal tonight. I was both honored and humbled to perform along side them, to share this experience. We had done it, our first night in London at the Grand Royal Drury Lane had warranted a standing ovation and we hugged as we stood upstage as the rest of the cast took their bows after us.


	4. Chapter 4

It was our ritual that once the house cleared, Director Slade gathered us in a circle on the stage and gave us his notes for the evening. We were perfect tonight so I knew he wouldn't have much, but he had an outside view I sometimes envied. To see myself and the others, I would know what cues could have been stepped on a little harder, when I could have paused longer to build up suspense. When I stepped beside my taller counterparts, Kat and Kendrick were still glowing from the high of the stage. Still, something else caught my attention. Standing beside Slade was a tall, thin man in an overcoat. He had sharp cheekbones, thin lips and sharp silver eyes that seemed to see through everyone's skin. He had tousled dark curls and was dressed in formal attire and when he spoke he had a deep voice bordering on a tenor. Was this some sort of theatre reviewer or something?

 

"Astounding performance if one enjoyed such theatrics of the dramatic and morbid nature. Perhaps our serial killer will have not be attacking and has little interest in this performance due to its origin of the cast." He said in that deep, velvety voice. Was he mocking the fact that our show was American? Then, it registered what he had said and my brows furrowed.

"I'm sorry I must be missing something... Did you say _killer_?" I asked, stepping forward as I spoke and breaking away from the circle.

"Ah yes the elusive Lucy. I imagine you felt your talents already too well honed to attend rehearsals, arrogance that very well could have cost you your life. Ms Katherine Nash was debriefed on the precarious situation but as I have little time to meddle in theatrics we were unaware there was a second leading lady, though one could hardly call the roll of the harlot mentionable." he said, and as he spoke my cheeks began to puff out and redden. I pointed my finger and felt that southern sass building up as I was ready to give this arrogant British prick the whatfor. Then another voice spoke from the shadows of the dimly lit house seats and my attention was pulled elsewhere.

"Sherlock that is quite enough. Your childish complaining is becoming quite rude. If you'll notice the pallor of Ms. Montgomery you would have seen that she was ill yesterday as well as earlier today. The extra layer of make up under the eyes and the state of the strings holding the corset are a shade darker from where it is not usually pulled so tight and can only be caused by a sudden weight loss perhaps caused by a sudden viral infection of the gastrointestinal nature." he said, a voice filled with confidence and intelligence immediately causing every ounce of my frustration to disintegrate and baffling me with his knowledge and skills of deduction knowing I had been ill. There he stepped under the spotlight, a tall lean man with straight set shoulders in a perfect navy pinstriped suit, silky red tie and pocket handkerchief without a wrinkle in sight. I nearly swallowed my tongue at the lines of his face, the aristocratic nose and bright cerulean eyes. The stage lights made his gorgeous hair shimmer a remarkable shade of ginger. Never had a man's appearance impacted me so hard with attraction, his voice gorgeous when he spoke and the eloquence like butter melting over a hot roll.

I didn't have to gawk long and he saved me the embarrassment of speechlessness by reaching out his hand and saying, "Mycroft Holmes, Ms. Charlotte Montgomery." and I wondered how he knew my name, then remembered it was in the Playbill with my short bio. I grasped his hand carefully and nodding as politely as I could uttered, "Pleased to meet you." and gah did my voice sound husky and low because I was attracted to this man or from belting? I didn't dare admit to myself it could have been the latter.

Finally Slade intervened stating he would like to review the night's opening before more MI6 debriefing was completed. I figured I had already survived opening night and Kat was safe so that made perfect sense where I was concerned. I just wanted to be out from under the stunning and penetrating gaze of Mycroft, who seemed to be solving me like a mystery and deducing my every secret. I erected my actress' wall as I stepped back beside Kat and Kendrick. She eyed me nervously and I knew she had meant to fill me in when we were getting in costume but everything moved so fast backstage it was overwhelming. I told her 'no worries' with my eyes and she smiled nodding. As Slade spoke my eyes wondered to the handsome Mycroft, busily focusing on his blackberry in his hand. I was so taken with him, men like him just didn't exist outside of my Jane Austen books. He carried himself with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what kind of man he was, what he was willing to fight for, the curve of his cheeks was perfect and he had cute ears. Ears? Really? I was loosing it. Then, he looked over at me and my eyes bolted to my shoes as I nodded my head along in agreement with whatever the director was saying.

A half hour later I left the dressing room dressed in skinny jeans, riding boots, a flowy teal tank top and was sliding my arms into my tan leather jacket. Kat and Kendrick were going out to party in the city, but I didn't want to risk talking over loud music and losing my voice even more. Plus, I was excited to go back to my new apartment and despite the chill I was sure waited outside, I wanted to walk and take in the smells and lights of London. It might sound crazy but I loved the smell of Manhattan, the food vendors, the gas from taxis and cars, the mix of cologne and perfume as people made their way out to their plans for the evening. I knew it might be different here, but it would be the same in so many ways. I threw my ivory infinite scarf over my head as I opened the door and embraced the early spring chill. Just as I turned the corner out of the back alley, I saw the one and only Mycroft leaning against a country green, brand new jaguar, still busily texting on his blackberry holding a bouquet of white roses. 

I actually flattered myself with thinking they might be for me, but then it occurred to me he was older, probably in his early thirties and had some beautiful British wife from a well-bred family soon to be meeting him. She might have worked for the theater or hosted charities there. I was moving past him when those gorgeous sapphire eyes met mine and completely immobilized me, like my boots had sunk into wet concrete.

"I would be honored if you would join me for tea, or coffee as you may prefer, so I may debrief you on the unsavory situation my brother brought to your attention tonight." he said in a low voice, the vocabulary and inflection with which he spoke causing my toes to curl in delight in my boots. He crossed the distance between us before we spoke and then he handed me those beautiful roses, rendering me further and utterly speechless. So the tall curly haired guy was his brother? So much information passed through my brain in that short moment I was sure smoke was coming out of my ears from the work my hard drive was putting in to process it all.


	5. Chapter 5

I wasn't a dumb country bumpkin anymore so I considered the roses carefully, wondering if I should get in this stranger's car? Common sense usually says no and there was a serial killer on the loose after all. How was he involved in the case, unless perhaps he was the serial killer? But, then I looked him up and down again and it struck me he was important. Government maybe? CIA or whatever they called it over here, MI6 I think. I fancied him as a James Bond type, and I suddenly shoved my wild girlie fantasies down. True to the hopeless romantic nature of a theatre and Literary student I just couldn't help be moved by his elegant speech pattern. Then, I regarded the roses and thought about when the last time was someone did something so kind and thoughtful. Sure, my boyfriends in college brought them to opening night, but they never really understood my passion for the stage. Leave it to those guys to tell me how only feminine ones enjoyed musicals, the same boys that thought rent was about sexuality and aids. It's not. Mycroft was a powerful man, and he was so impressed by my performance tonight he bought me roses. And you know what? I earned them. I killed it out there tonight, made myself Lucy and completely dominated her most difficult notes.

Another thought occurred to me which was the fact he might not take no for an answer. And I was curious, considering Kat already knew about this whole serial killer thing and since my life was in danger I might as well know how and why. And what to do to save my skin. He had a brow perfectly arched awaiting my response when I looked at him and nodded my head yes. He held open the door and I settled into the tan leather interior, Mycroft settling in beside me and allowing my nose to catch a whiff of his cologne. It was a wonderful smell, expensive and tasteful for him.

This confident man didn't allow any awkward silence to settle as he turned to me, tucking his blackberry within his inner suit pocket and said, "How are you enjoying London so far? It is my understanding you have taken up residence at a flat on Baker Street?".

I shook my head obviously baffled that he knew my home address and where it should have scared me it instead made me feel instantly safe, "How is it you know so much about me?" I asked.

A genuine smile crossed his lips, different from the one when he introduced himself on stage making me realize the difference was this one was unforced and he said, "I hold a minor position in the British government. I found it necessary to gather as much intelligence as possible on the cast members at risk. I do not want any reason for the American government to feel we did not put our best efforts in place to ensure the safety of the New York University students. Once I discovered your part in the performance I did what was necessary." he answered mildly, as if it was so normal for him to know I had a stomach bug yesterday and that I had moved to London permanently. I pursed my lips pondering his words before deciding that fact seemed fair enough, and looked out of the window beside me. As the car eased to a stop I followed him out of the vehicle, before Mycroft took the roses from my hand tenderly and laid them across the seat before closing the car door.

"Shouldn't I take them with me? I can walk home from here." I said, wanting to let him know I was a well cultured city girl accustomed to walking everywhere. Honestly I am a terrible driver, and my driver's ed teacher barely gave me my license back in Georgia. I had my learner's forever. Imagine my relief when I discovered New York and the fact I'd never need a car again.

 

"How rude would it be of me, my dear, to allow you to walk to your flat in this spring chill after having caused you to be out well after nightfall?" he said closing the car door and then extending his elbow for me to take. It made me blush as I placed my small hand in the crook, feeling the wonderful material of the jacket he wore. He led me to a small café, his steps so sure and his back straight. Charm such as this was usually found on Southern gentlemen in Savannah or whenever those frat boys' mama's were watching, and then really rare in Manhattan. As I approached the door I noticed the place seemed locked up and closed for the night. I was surprised to find disappointment sweeping over me, I wanted to spend more time getting to know Mycroft. Then I mentally smacked myself in the forehead, I was here to find out about a serial killer, not swoon over this handsome man.

"Looks like we are too late, perhaps tomorrow-" I began to say as he suddenly reached past me and pulled the door open to the empty café. My mouth popped open in a most unladylike fashion as he waited for me to enter. I looked around and found a single table with the chairs still turned down and a few lights above it dimly glowing. I sat down gingerly as he pulled out my chair and folded his lean form into the seat across from me, no elbows on the table making me self conscious of my own behaviors. I tried to pull out some of my debutante breeding in an effort to seem well refined. Mycroft's eyes were filled with humor and delight, a small grin at the corner of his lips, but beneath that I sensed something else. He was powerful, I could feel it like the smell of his delicious cologne, and it was like inside he was caging a lion, something fierce burning beneath that perfectly knotted tie and impeccable suit with no lines or fuzz. _Minor position my ass_ I thought.


	6. Chapter 6

Mycroft sipped his tea like the perfect and well-bred English gentleman he was, and for a moment I was transported to all of my favorite British romance novels, such as Pride and Prejudice or Atonement. But knowing Mycroft worked for the government I thought about my favorite romance series as well, the Liars Club. A series about spies against Napoleon for the Crown, dark and dangerous men, and the sassy, quick-witted ladies alongside them with which passionate love blooms. Plenty of tasteful smut to get me through those lonely New York nights, too. The setting of that small cafe and the mysterious Mycroft Holmes whom 'held a minor position in the government' was a heady combination like opium and it made me feel as if I could possibly see myself being both romantic and intimate with this man. A man I had to again remind myself, I'd just met. I took a swallow of the hot water and lemon that had been my lifeline since I was a small child, wearing my vocal chords thin, and decided to do all I could keep my wits about me. A fantastic feat given my current company. As I settled the cup back to its saucer I then coyly brushed my fingertip along the rim to give this handsome, tightly wound three piece suit the chance to start this conversation. To my utter surprise, he settled his cup to his saucer as well, folded his fingers across one another and looking at me with that ginger brow lifted and those royal blue eyes assessing me, he began to speak.

"I believe you to be of some intelligence so I am quite sure you are aware of the precarious situation in which you and Ms. Katherine Nash have found yourselves in?" he said with a small and nearly devilish grin.

Pursing my lips I said, "O-kay... I'm going to assume that was some stuffy English form of a compliment. As you said, I had a small stomach virus and it caused me to miss the early rehearsal. Not something I was thrilled about but it was better than tossing cookies around everyone. Though, if you and that... kind gentleman had studied the show a bit more you'd both have known there were two female leads." I stated, tilting my head slightly in challenge to the gaze that had me feeling warm from my chest to the butterflies in my stomach and further down to my unmentionables. Then, Mycroft did something that completely surprised me, he laughed, a sweet and delightful sound that I wanted to be the cause of time and time again.

"I am quite certain there isn't a single being that has referred to my younger brother as... kind. I fear I have insulted you in some form in my lack of knowledge of the musicale in which you were a riveting Lucy. In truth, I do not know much in the way of literary works nor much of theatre. I rarely find leisure time for such things, and yet I must admit my dear Charlotte, you were captivating tonight. I was truly bewitched." he said, those eyes growing serious and his sincere words in his deep English accent causing a blush to spread from the tops of my breasts to my cheeks. I hate the way I blush, it embarrassing and my boobs practically glow like ET. Suddenly though, I felt a bit guilty for berating him so quickly. Of course he didn't have time for something he found so frivolous as theater. Though few people would even begin to scratch the surface of understanding the characters. I did it because well, I loved it but also, how could I become someone I didn't completely understand on a cosmic level?

"You needn't apologize, I am speaking to you rather sincerely." he said and I was dumbfounded again. He had read me like a book and based on my reaction knew I was contrite for berating him. Geez, it was like being constantly hooked up to a lie detector or sitting around Edward Cullen and him reading my mind. 

"Th- thank you. I suppose holding a minor position in the Government can be very time consuming. I'm honored you saw the show tonight and enjoyed it." I said with a coy grin, and I meant it. This intelligent man enjoyed my performance and any actress will tell you being appreciated is nice. I'm not an attention seeking brat but I like knowing someone smart or important saw my show.

Since eloquence had suddenly left me under those smart eyes, I was relieved when Mycroft began debriefing me in regards to the serial killer targeting leading female ladies in the musicals premiering at the Grand Royal theater. There were four murders so far and as of yet, Mycroft's brother Sherlock, whom I learned was a consulting detective for Scotland Yard, had not yet solved the case and reprimanded the attacker. I was certainly startled and a bit frightened considering the murders he informed me of were gruesome and violent, leaving the victim center stage and carved with a sharp scalpel. It reminded me of that movie Kendrick had dragged me along to see called The Black Dahlia. MI6 would be in the audience nearly every night of the performance and I was informed that any suspicious activity was to be reported to the undercover Stage Manager. I agreed I would keep my eyes open and be on my guard, and I thanked him for taking the time to debrief me on all of the details.

Mycroft and I had instant chemistry, but I remained guarded and reserved, not wanting to hold up his evening any further. He was very important after all, totally in control of the case at the Grand Royal. When he stood to shrug into his perfectly tailored spring coat, I noted how perfectly poised and graceful he was. Comfortable in his lean, tall body, his suit flattering in its custom cut, even the movements of his hands were graceful. It occurred to me that a man like him might want nothing to do with a silly American actress, that perhaps he was simply doing me a kindness by taking me out to debrief me. Then again, he could have just pulled me aside in the theater, and there were those beautiful roses. New country, new life, and if the way he looked at me, reserved yet hiding that lion beneath that neat and tidy finely tailored cage, new dating life. I felt like Audrey Hepburn, flirtatious and intelligent, the kind of woman well educated and well bred men fell over their feet for. 

The jaguar eased to the curb of the apartment building of 234 Baker Street, and he pulled me from the car with his hand grasping mine firmly, "Ms. Montgomery, would you perhaps grace me with your presence tomorrow evening for dinner?", and despite his cool and collected façade, his eyes revealed he was worrisome over what my response might be. It seemed to me that rejection did not bode well for this man, and they way I saw it, that made him more human and reachable. That little slight of vulnerability made him feel attainable to me, and I liked the idea.

"I would be pleased to do so, Mr. Holmes." I answered and then he lifted my fingers to his lips and the press of them sent a bee line of exhilaration through me and down to my toes. I felt giddy and issued him a flirtatious wink before opening the glass door and ascending the stairs. I took my time as I walked, giving a little wiggle because I was fortunately wearing jeans that made my butt look awesome.


	7. Chapter 7

I was well rested the next morning, a good night's sleep making me feel fully recovered from my stomach flu and my nightmares long forgotten. I didn't dwell on them. Ever. To me that was giving my past power, and while I respected it for making me who I am, I didn't think on it or allow it to tarnish each and every new day. I sang in the shower, belting out some Come and Get Your Love by Redbone and danced around my new apartment. I should say flat, apparently that was the more accurate word and since I was a Britain girl now I might as well try using the lingo. The sun was sparkling outside and since there were no rehearsals, Slader liked to give us a day before the show the next night, I wanted to explore my city. I also looked through my closet and felt nothing would quite do for my date tonight. I wanted to appear flawless, Breakfast at Tiffany's-esque, and while I had a great wardrobe I wanted something brand new. Hair wrapped in a towel I decided to rally the troups.

I first called Kendrick only to be sent to voicemail, and a little put out. In the realm of stereotypes he was excellent with fashion but even better, he did amazing make up. Talk about contouring, perfect winged eyeliner, and the exceptional blending of eyeshadow colors to make your eyes pop like an anime character. Don't get me wrong, I was pretty good with your standard stuff, but he was better. I also knew he was probably in bed with a blonde guy reminiscent of a fairy prince, his preferred type. I'd hit him up for a fresh face after I removed my stage make up later tonight. Next I called Kat, the blonde to my brown, the tall to my short, the early bird to my night owl. She had been up for hours and was beyond thrilled to get out of the hotel and tour the city with me. Not to mention we both harbored a deep love for shopping. I told her I'd grab a cab and pick her up in half an hour. I dressed in black leggings, my brown riding boots, and a sheer black and floral tunic, donning a sun hat. 

Later that day we found a small pinup style boutique that I just had to go inside of. Kat eyed the vintage tea length dresses as we wondered throughout the store.

"I can't believe Kendrick just completely ignored your call." she said fingering the crinoline and satin.

"Yeah well, you know how he is when he finds a new toy." I said rolling my eyes and she laughed, grabbing a baby blue dress from the rack to try on. That's when I found a little black number, off the shoulders and layers of crimson crinoline under the skirt. We excitedly stepped into one of the larger dressing rooms together and changed. I always sort of envied Kat, she was long and lithe, thin arms and flawless ivory skin. Her hair was a gorgeous shade of strawberry blonde that required no highlights, whispy and soft, with almond shaped baby blues and a sharp jaw line with pointed chin. I was the opposite in everyway, barely five foot three with peach skin. My hair was dark auburn, thick and had been unmanageable in Savannah's humidity. I had a round face, short chin with a little dimple and big round green eyes. Don't get me wrong I like me, but I envy the outfits she gets to pull off. Being rather busty I struggled with some dresses, and I could never where the clingy kind due to my slightly over ample rear. Still, I had great legs from my Broadway dancing, in fact they were my favorite feature. 

"So what's this new guy like? Would I know him?" Kat asked as we sipped iced tea and walked around. I blushed just thinking of the feel of his lips on my fingers. But, I didn't want to be too earnest so I decided not to tell Kat about my older and handsome date.

"He's just special. Different. I don't want to jinx it too soon." I said around my straw.

"You and your jinxes." she said rolling her eyes, "Just remember, you're a catch. An ace. Make him earn you, not the other way around." she said and I smiled. She had to remind me of this sometimes when I thought a hot guy was out of my league. I tended to sell my self short at times. 

"Can we talk about how perfect the harmonies were last night during In His Eyes?" I asked excitedly.

"Oh my god yes! We crushed it!" she said.

"You were absolutely perfect with Kendrick last night. I was swept away in the romance. I love how you bring that soft and understanding side to Mrs. Jekyll." I said, admiring Kat as always for being stellar and ladylike and beautiful.

"I was so enthralled with your sexual prowess as Lucy, but A New Life had me teary eyed. Your voice was amazing and so vulnerable." she said, and I knew she was proud of her little protégé. 

After deciding I had found the dress to drive Mycroft crazy, Kat and I parted ways to rest up and relax before the show that night. We were bound to once again have a full house and with the first premier over, I was a little tired still from the adrenaline rush of the night before. As I reentered my apartment that day, I missed my books. I'd love to have snuggled up with Alice, or Buttercup and Wesley, easy reads I loved to revisit time and time again. I settled instead for flipping through e-mails, scheduling my meeting with the museum director at the end of the tour week and unpacking my few personal belongings. I hung pictures on my wall, mostly of Kat, Ken and I. After a few hours I felt relaxed and like my home was more homey, more mine. 

Everything was in place for the second debut performance and as I grabbed my dress bag to place in the dressing room to prep for my date after the show, I felt a giggle of joy bubbling up. Every time I found my thoughts turning to my date and how sexy Mycroft was, I found my heart racing and heat running through my body straight to my thighs. A true lady never gave it up on the first date and I certainly didn't intend to, I was still a Southern lady, but I would be kissing him breathless if all panned out and he was as confident a man as I pegged him for. I wouldn't initiate first, not the first kiss, he would have to. But still how had I never been so attracted to a male before? As I strolled down West End, there was a song in my heart as I thought about how wonderfully my new life was beginning.

The orchestra began, the lights dimmed and the show began with full force, just as it had the night before. The energy was tense that night and I couldn't quite pin point why, but after nearly a decade on the stage you learned to pick up on these things. I strongly hoped not one person had dared utter the 'M' word, something I knew from personal experience was a true Theatrical curse. Once at Cambridge, Kendrick and I had this brilliant idea to test the Shakespearean play's merits and adorned the dressing rooms with big, colorful signs reading "Macbeth", causing panic amongst the entire cast when they found them to get into costume. That night the light board had failed, the mics glitched out several times, and various props were dropped and damaged by various cast members. I swore never again. Seriously. I take theatre seriously and acted like such a child then, but I learned my lesson well. It wasn't until Lucy was seduced by Mr. Hyde that I understood the weird energy I had picked up on. It was coming from Kendrick. He was terrifying tonight with eyes red, dark circles underneath, and purely frightening, causing me to tremble involuntarily and adding more authenticity to the more dramatic scenes. Once Lucy died and I was carried off in the wheel barrel from the stage, I tried to shake that feeling of foreboding and began to remove my stage make up to prepare for my date, hoping Mycroft had been watching me even more intently tonight. I also decided to wait until after curtain call to corner Kendrick and force him to talk to me.


	8. Chapter 8

When the theatre cleared after the final curtain call, I searched everywhere for Kendrick, but only found his costume hung neatly in the dressing room, not a line out of place as if he hadn't worn it at all. I thought it was weird, but more importantly I wanted to find him. I tried tracking down Kat to ask if she'd seen him, but Director Slade told me she had left with some extended family that had seen the show tonight. I realized I wasn't going to be able to ask her if she found him off tonight, if she felt the weirdness I had, so I started to cross the stage again to make my way to the dressing room. My phone went off in my pocket, stopping my stride and when I read the text I smiled brightly. 

_I am a bit tardy this evening._  
_My deepest apologies._  
_I shall see you momentarily._  
_You were divine again this evening._  
_-M_

At first, I wondered how he had gotten my phone number since I didn't recall exchanging them the other night, but of course I knew he probably had exponential resources. I wanted to be a bit mad and even call it an invasion of my privacy, but that last bit had me lighting up from the inside. As it were, we were going on a date tonight and if I had it my way there would be many more. Continuing my path through the wings and storage space I saved his number in my phone with a girlish emoji with heart eyes. Silly I know, but I was feeling bubbly and flirtatious. Not to mention that's how I felt I was looking at him nearly every minute I've spent with him thus far. I decided since he was late I should have time to run over to the hotel to search out Kendrick.

My little errand bore no fruit so I made my way back in the stage near the alley just as the skies opened up for a heavy rain. Convenient my date seemed to always have an umbrella at hand. I plopped down in the dressing room chair and connected my ipod to a portable speaker someone left on the counter. Since I was on my own tonight, I decided I'd take my time doing my make up and jamming out to my favorite pick me up playlist. Shimmying to Classic by MKTO, I winged my eyeliner and decorated my lips with tasteful red lipstick, further indulging in my Audrey Hepburn fantasy. I wasn't sure how much longer the one and only Mycroft Holmes would take, but I had been dying to try out the grand piano in the orchestra so I decided to make my way across the stage to play a new song I'd been wanting to try. 

The Grand Royal was silent save for the sound of my heels clicking, and as I took one last glance down at my phone and emerged from the wings, my eyes found the spotlight shining center stage. This would always be the exact moment I remember my entire world came crashing down, the moment the world knocked my knees out from under me with a steel baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. My eyes recognized that long strawberry blonde hair, the porcelain skin ten shades whiter, and blood. Dark, angry, and too much blood. I didn't want to look, but I wanted to see her to know it couldn't possibly be her. I tried to avoid her face but the slices were thick and the images permanently slapped themselves across my brain too fast. I screamed, I know I did, a loud and horrendous sound but I couldn't hear it over the pounding of my heart. The sound of it breaking and shattering with a deafening echo. I burst from the back stage door and was immediately doused in pelting rain, falling against the brick alley wall and hitting my knees. I let out a wracking sob and dry heaved to the pavement, gagging and choking and sputtering.

My best friend, Katherine Nash was dead. I'd never hear the musical sound of her laugh, talk about boys, drill through songs over and over until I got every note right. Hands trembling I pulled my phone from my bag and grabbing a handful of my hair called the number Mycroft had given me for DI Lestrade of Scotland Yard. I don't remember what I said, how I said it. I don't know if my words were coherent or if I even told him who I was. I just know he showed up, lightS blazing in the night and I was still leaning against that brick wall, back ramrod straight and all of my clothes getting heavier and heavier with every drop of rain I absorbed.

The officer's went inside and then returned, Lestrade and another woman standing in front of me as every layer of cloth I had on glued to me like a second wet skin.

"She's in shock, Donovan." the detective said, eyeing me warily. As if I was some wild animal they'd cornered.

"That or a really good actor. Looks like she's the only one who's been 'ere since the show ended. We hav'ta bring 'er in." the lady said, brown frizzy hair repelling the rain. The detective looked me over warily and placed his cuffs on my wrists, placing an arm around my shoulder and leading me back to his car. His touch was gentle and for someone he had to arrest he was holding me under his arm comfortingly. How could they think I killed her? Had he not heard the raw panic, terror in my voice when I phoned him to let him know what had happened?

"I don't really think you done it. It's just, you were so calm when you spoke about it. Void of emotion. And with no one else around it's my job." he said over his shoulder, giving me a look mixed with pity and something I couldn't place. That answered a few of my questions too.


	9. Chapter 9

Everything was a blur, and if these are the moments that define us I was failing to appear anything like the heroine I'd hoped to become. I was frozen in silence, sitting in a hard plastic chair at Scotland Yard. The cuffs on my wrists were glinting beneath the annoying UV lights and I knew any minute now I might throw myself to that tiled floor and breakdown. How could I have been so stupid, so naïve? London was just as dangerous as Manhattan, and after two days it was already chewing me up and picking its teeth with my bones. More than that, I was afraid because I had no idea when it would decide to spit me back out, nor what state I'd be in. Pain lanced through my chest every time I acknowledged deep inside of me that Kat was dead, cold and lifeless and dead. It didn't seem right or fair and my brain picked at me reminding me that life wasn't fair. I remembered one of my favorite quotes from my favorite book where the main character says, "Everyone knows books are better than life, that's why they're books!". She was right, God she was so right.

A smooth voice broke my frozen unblinking reverie as it said, "I will be removing the handcuffs immediately and you are fortunate I will not also be having you removed from the premises this very instant, Donovan. She is not a suspect and should you ever manhandle her again you shall find yourself losing much more than your employment.". An umbrella point tapped on the tile floor and warm steady hands came into my line of vision and released the cold metal from my wrists that somehow looked so small and weak. They dropped them to the floor with an audible clink. Kneeling before me, looking impeccable without a single ginger fair hair out of place nor drop of rain clinging to his pristine suit, a pair of the bluest midnight eyes bore into mine, filled with a tenderness that nearly sent me from my chair to my knees in front of him sobbing my soul out into his shoulder where I would feel his warmth and power.

I continued to stare at his hands as they gripped mine, warmth radiating through the black leather gloves he wore as he said, "I shall protect you, my dear Charlotte. All will be well." his voice so soft and secure, I believed him and felt everything in me come back alive, felt my heart set back into motion.

I was on the verge of that breakdown I craved, still. There's a lot a good cry can do for you, and call me crazy but I needed the release it would provide. There was too much inside me, too much pain, but I was stopped by the sound of a voice mingling with the Detective Inspector's as two pairs of shoes carried down the hallway. I closed my eyes to steel myself for the onslaught of questions, the brashness of which they would be asked. I released a long sigh and Mycroft released my frozen fingers, standing protectively over my chair by the desk I faced. When the younger Holmes, Sherlock, entered he was chipper, morbidly so and smiling like it was Christmas morning, untouched by the notion that a human being's life had been snuffed out. That a wonderful and human person was dead. It was permanent. It was killing me. Every nerve and emotion was raw and exposed, like live wires in water ready to harm anyone stupid enough to attempt to wrangle them. 

"Well, shall I begin questioning our one and only witness fortunate enough to find the victim minutes after her body was placed?" Sherlock asked rubbing his hands together fervently, before sharply turning with a billow of his coat to stare down at me, "What exactly were you doing at the theatre after the performance was well beyond concluded, Ms. Montgomery?" he asked, the tone of his voice making me think he perhaps already knew the answer, his silver eyes never breaking contact with my emerald green ones. 

I hesitated, because I knew what kind of man my date might be and I wasn't sure how public our first date should be. To be fair, yes I was well aware of how precarious my situation was and since they seemed to suspect me to some degree it wasn't a good idea to lie to the police. Especially considering I was here on a Visa and essentially an immigrant. 

"She was waiting for me." Mycroft said with a tad bit more inflection than I think he meant, his frustration clear. I took the lead from there, "Right. I was waiting for Mr. Holmes. He asked me to dinner. I had just removed my stage make up and changed out of my costume. I decided to play the orchestra piano to practice a new song and that- that's when I found Kat." I said swallowing down the lump in my throat, all of that perfectly true. But of course Sherlock knew this. He was a human lie detector.

"Pity, you probably should have kept the corset and fishnets in that case. But you said you were waiting, was my brother unaware of the precise moment the show would be ending?" he asked, not to me at all, but with his head and eyes snapping towards Mycroft still standing by the desk, Sherlock's body wedged slightly between us.

"Brother mine, you know I am a busy man. I was called into a meeting between the performance and dinner. I sent a text to Ms. Montgomery explaining my tardiness." he said with that wry and sarcastic grin, like he was speaking with a confused child.

"Tardy? I see. And that of course had nothing to do with your desire to stop our serial killer at large? Which, you had previously indicated was a matter of national importance and could cause you a great deal of strife in your work should one of the American students' lives be claimed and MI6's failure to reprimand the suspect before hand cause tension between England and America? Perhaps you hoped that if your little... _friend_ was left alone this evening she would serve as prime bait for our suspect and bring him to light, MI6 agents conveniently close at hand to spare her life?" Sherlock mused. In that moment Mycroft went completely ashen and his perfect blue eyes widened in shock.

I felt like I had been slapped across the face, like my own personal rain cloud just opened up overhead and doused me in more freezing water, "Bait? I was just a ploy to solve this case?" I asked softly, gazing at him with hurt and disdain. I'd imagined him so perfect, such a fairytale prince, I had been so wrong.

"That was never my intention. I would have never- I _never_ would allow anyone to harm you." he stated intently, those cerulean depths seeking mine again, hands crossed over the bamboo handle of his umbrella . He was sincere and contrite for his actions, of that I knew, but I couldn't meet his gaze as betrayal poisoned my fresh feelings at his unspoken admission. He had set me up, I was a means to an end. And it had cost Kat her life. 

"Mycroft Holmes does not keep pets for very long." Sherlock stated slyly in my direction, facing me again and it took a moment for me to look up at Mycroft and then at Sherlock asking, "Pet?".

"Really, Mycroft you should be more fair to your- what was the word your preferred? Ah yes, Goldfish." Sherlock continued grinning. I was shocked and pained at his every word, he was happy in the face of my despair.

"The average life span of a goldfish is approximately two weeks in the care of a child which treats it as nothing more than a plaything. If this said goldfish survives the initial two week period of the child's delight at its pretty scales, the child forgets the goldfish upon the realization the fish no longer holds any excitement and will simply swim about in its bowl incapable of meeting the child's demands for tricks and mental stimulation, it will die from starvation caused by neglect." he continued, the words a proverbial slap across my face.

"Stop it Sherlock! Just stop it!" Mycroft demanded, his voice hardly rising but the words severe and laced with an underlying threat as everyone in the room sat a bit straighter.

Tears welled into my eyes against my will and they also surprised me, because I was astonished I had any left but, before even one tear fell I had to ask him, "Is this who you are?". My eyes finally met his, boring into his sapphire blue ones, his expression unwavering of stoicism. 

"The Iceman, to his core." Sherlock muttered and everything within me just caved deeper, the crack widening and hollowing me out. I blinked harder and forced back the tears, refusing to look at anyone in the room besides the Detective Inspector. 

"I believe I know who killed Kat." I finally whispered and both Holmes brothers stared at me in shock and disbelief, so brilliant and I had solved their beloved case before them. It wasn't hard, I knew what had been askew that night, the catalyst, the missing piece that could only be connected to by its absence.


	10. Chapter 10

Hours later it was nearly three in the morning, and I'd divulged everything about the performance that night, about how he'd been acting and the costume hanging in the dressing room. I made sure I emphasized that he would never hurt a fly, that he was an animal and human rights activists and that he had to have been controlled by a substance or person. The tip of my nose was pink and dripping at the end, chills were wracking my body and exhaustion was causing my voice to become weak and my accent was slipping out. I knew with my weak immune system common in many singers, I'd be coming down with a cold from staying in soaked clothing. Great. Add insult to injury. With my mind numb I found myself in that chair and fantasizing about a long hot shower where I could just sit in the tub under the hot stream of the shower and cry and cry before heaving myself into bed and passing out from exhaustion. That dream would soon become a reality as finally I shook Lestrade's hand and he asked me to please contact him immediately should Kendrick reach out to me.

In truth, I wasn't entirely sure how quickly I'd be willing to keep my promise to Lestrade when I saw Kendrick again. In fact, I had decided I needed to find him before Scotland Yard did. I could protect him, figure out if he really did this. I really didn't want to believe it. Kendrick was a wonderful person and friend, but upon meeting him I quickly found out he had a much rougher life than mine, and that was exactly why I never spoke about my past to other people. I had opened up to him and found the cold hard truth. It could always be worst. His father had been a severely southern Baptist man with strong backwoods Bible virtues. As a child Ken had not only been beaten by his father, especially once his true sexuality revealed itself, but was raped by his father. Those kinds of emotional scars didn't rest easily, and when I first met Kendrick he was drowning his pain in vodka and heroin. It wasn't until I confided in him the truth of my own parentage did we connect off stage and then I helped him find healthy ways to deal. Kickboxing, the stage, singing our hearts out in the abandoned theater late after practice, his addictions became easier, he took AZT and recovered fully within a year. I was so proud of him, he was proud of himself and in the years I'd known him he had never faltered. So what caused the backslide?

Mycroft Holmes stood beneath his black umbrella and gracefully inhaled the fire onto his tongue from his cigarette, thinking how daft he had been. He had already destroyed any chance of trust he might have shared with the beautiful American girl, and his face filled with disdain. True, he had hoped keeping her at the theater a tad longer would incite an attack, and he fully intended to gas the place and deploy MI6 agents and come strolling in like the big hero. For all the brilliance in his mind he could not fathom what could have pushed him to such a drastic attempt at impressing the young woman. He was infatuated of course, but that was hardly cause for such extreme measures as he had taken. Those eyes, those big round sparkling green eyes surveyed him with such anguish and betrayal he nearly dropped to his knees and pled for mercy, a gesture Mycroft Holmes would never do.

Charlotte Montgomery emerged from the doorway and he sucked in an inaudible shocked breath, a reaction he found recently not only caused by her perfect form under the spotlight. She was exquisite in reality. Dark auburn hair slicked to her face, skin a tad ashen, and noticeable redness under those beautiful emerald eyes, she still made his heartbeat quicken. Even with her nose red on the button at the end, he wanted to press his lips against it, to put his arm over those shoulders and pull her nearer to him. The Iceman could protect her, keep her under the tails of his coat and warm her cold form. She spotted him there on the sidewalk and began to turn the other cheek, to walk the opposite way from him. _Stubborn creature_ he thought, nearly rolling his eyes before reminding himself that it was impolite and he was rarely prone to such catty expressions. Tossing his cigarette after two drags he began to walk quickly to stop her determined stride, to try to make rights with how the evening had transpired. Likely, she would not forgive him or perhaps place blame upon him for her friend's death. He could only sleep tonight after having wiped the pain and abandonment from those big round eyes, only after making amends.

Gentle fingers grasped the back of my arm and delicately I was turned to face the one man I really didn't want to see. Well, the second, because if I saw Sherlock again in my lifetime it would be too soon and I'd be tempted to choke him. Even through my thin jacket I could feel his touch, intoxicating and heady, like sitting in Central Park in early Fall and the air is cool, but if you sit in the perfect position under the sun you feel the warmest softest breeze. I wondered again how he could have this affect on me, someone that seemed to fit his nickname the Iceman? My heart was shattered, my ego was bruised, and my feelings were downright hurt and I didn't want to look up into that beautiful aristocratic face, those even more beautiful cerulean eyes and feel the impact. I was still too emotional, too raw, so I flicked my eyes away before getting carried away.

"Please, Charlotte. I am inclined to apologize for my behavior. I meant only to protect you. I assure you my intentions were nothing short of noble." he said before delicately releasing my arm. There were his pretty words again, who even said noble anymore? Still, I could listen to him speak for hours, relishing in his words and inflection. Before I could say anything else I let out a violent sneeze and covered my nose in an attempt to reserve some of my ladylike debutante tendencies. Before my face was a sapphire blue handkerchief, almost the same shade as his eyes and grumpily I grabbed it to try and ease the drippy faucet that had taken up residence where my nose used to be. I was frustrated, beyond bone tired, and before I could stop myself I let out all that pent up southern sass.

"Mr. Holmes you are by far the meanest, coldest, pompous and arrogant man I have ever met! I'm not devastated by the fact we never went on the date that you never intended to take me on in the first place. My best friend was murdered tonight and I was the one blessed enough to find her body! And get this, scoop of icecream on the apple pie, now my other bestfriend is prime suspect number one. I am cold, I'm still soaked and at this point flat out scared! I am coming down with a cold and I have nothing left in me tonight. So please, take your pretty words and perfect suit and leave me be!" I stated firmly before turning on my heel and managing by a miracle not to slip in the puddles, and strode away with my back ramrod straight because God forbid I hunch and look like a wounded puppy tucking tail and running away. It wasn't until I'd made it a good ways down the sidewalk and passed several blocks I broke down and I cried.


	11. Chapter 11

_I'm alone with her, sitting in the floor while she dresses_  
_I want to hug mommy, and touch her hair_  
_She's so pretty, like a movie star. I want to be like her when I'm grown._  
_My tummy hurts, I'm hungry, I try to tell Mommy but she's not listening._  
_I start to cry, that works with the nanny, she feeds me when I ask though._  
_But Mommy just looks at me, like she hates me, tells me to be quiet_  
_She screams at me as I wail louder, I don't know why she's yelling but I'm so hungry_  
_The bottle of clear stuff she drinks crashes near my head, glass rains down my shoulder_  
_Her hand draws back and I wince..._

My white pajamas covered in sushi and chopsticks are soaked in sweat again, and as I jerk awake I don't have the energy to sit up. I'm staring at the wall, a thin ray of sunshine is bursting through the curtains. I don't want to check my phone, to see what time it is. I pick it up from the nightstand anyway, untangle the cord and see my background photo. It's Kat and Ken and I with rainbow painted cheeks at the Pride Parade earlier this spring. Reality slaps into me again and I'm hunched over crying, squeezing my pillow and feeling the pain fresh and new. I can't bare it, the fact that she's dead. I can hear the London noise outside my Juliet balcony and there's horns blowing, people talking, footsteps and noise, the sun is brilliant and I know it's a beautiful day. It's wrong. The world has just kept on turning, while Kat is cold and stiff in the morgue to be shipped off back home like cargo. She should be flying back Sunday, all smiles with Ken, warm and laughing. We should be hanging out, shopping, taking selfies near every famous landmark of this place. I cry for all of the things she won't get to do, I cry for her parents, and I cry for myself. I've never lost anyone I loved, I never really knew what it meant to be loved until I had my best friend. Now she's gone. Coughing and sneezing, probably running a fever I just slip off back to sleep, my body sore and aching from my sobs.

Night falls, and I heave myself from my bed and take a hot shower, feeling like someone beat me with a sack of rocks. I know I need to eat, to get out of my apartment and try to deal with my grief. But grief is a fickle thing, especially when you aren't familiar with it. I once grieved my pet rabbit, Elvis, but that loss was miniscule compared to losing my best friend, so all of this pain was wearing me down, I was drowning in it and had no clue how to deal. As I tried to warm up in the shower, I thought about my life in theater, in musicals and how my heroine's dealt with grief, sadness, those big powerful emotions. They belted it out until nothing was left, pouring all of their pain and empathy into the notes. It's what I loved about musicals, when words failed, sing a song, sing your heart out, sing like you're dying and it's your last words, the last anyone will remember of you. I knew then the where and how that I would get the release I craved, the thing that might ease my aching soul if for only a little while, but enough I might find clarity in my mourning. 

I dressed in layers, a pink racer back tank top, a long sleeved off the shoulder burgundy tee, dark jeans, my riding boots, and my black leather jacket. My fever was pitching but I didn't care, I needed to feel the cold night air on my face and feel something other than the pain I was in. I coughed into my arm and avoided other people as much as possible as I made my way to West End. I slipped into the back alley of the Grand Royal Drury Lane and was relieved to find it unlocked. In truth, while I pretended I had come for some peace, what I actually sought was war. I hoped to draw Kendrick and whoever had him out of hiding. I wanted to fight, punch and hurt the person who'd taken my Kat from me, and I was the survivor that got away. I wanted to provoke action, to fight the monster that Kat couldn't. Some of that was probably my fever talking, but as I said before, these are the moments that define us. I wouldn't curl up and cry any longer, that phase was over.

I could tell the others in the cast and crew had been here, all of our props were gone, the extra's costumes no longer filling the racks about the storage space. It was dead silent, I could hear only my labored breathing because my walk had wore me out a tad. It had been a while since I last lingered in an empty theater and I was taken aback by a new wave of melancholy, the place hollow as no performance space was meant to be. The ivories of the grand piano were smooth and slick, glimmering in the dim lights and heavily I sat down pondering life and death and the fact that I was so alone. I felt like a small child again, before I was shipped off to boarding school. I was so alone in the summer, my Dad working and Mom being the Savannah socialite she was, and I wondered the cemeteries hoping the rumors were true and they were really haunted because more than anything I wanted a friend, and dead or alive didn't really matter to my young heart.

My fingers travelled the keys as I began to sing, pouring all of my pain and sadness into the song I chose, " _There are moments that the words don't reach. There's a grace too powerful to name. We push away what we can never understand. We push away the unimaginable. They are standing in the garden. Alexander by Eliza's side, she takes his hand. It's quiet uptown. Forgiveness, can you imagine?_ ". As I sang I paused on that last line because I had that feeling someone was behind me, and although that's usually only in scary movies, I knew in this reality I was right. My hair stood on end and carefully I glanced over my shoulder to see a barely recognizable figure. It was Kendrick, dressed in a shabby moth eaten tux. I froze on that stool, torn between running to embrace him and punching him and demanding answers. Where had he been? Did he hurt Kat? Why? How could he? It all slammed through me so fast I didn't even realize I had settled on a reaction and my feet had carried me over to him with arms wide open. He was all I had left now, and my heart had decided to still give him the benefit of the doubt.

When I reached him, he embraced me firmly but he was shaking like his bones had turned hollow and that was all he had left in him, just bones. I sobbed into his chest gripping his shirt front in my fists smelling something sour and implacaeable, and waiting for him to speak first, for him to tell me what happened. I felt his tears against my head and felt his chest heaving, he was sobbing with me, his embrace firm. 

"I'm so sorry, Charlie. Ch-Charlie, I have to- I'm sorry." he whispered and as his words registered and my brows furrowed in confusion, I looked up into his sallow brown eyes and felt a sharp sting in my neck. Fluid burned into me and my eyes tried to stay focused and my brain tried to comprehend what was happening. I questioned him with my eyes, fingers touching his cheek but whatever he had put in me worked quick and within seconds I felt like I was falling, a tunnel forming in my vision dotted with tiny galaxy like stars and then everything was black and I was at peace, either sleeping or dead but everything around me was quiet and still.


	12. Chapter 12

Detective Inspector Lestrade arrived at the apartment for 234 J and knocked gingerly on the door. In truth, he felt bad for the girl that found her friend dead just two days ago. Then, she named her other close mate as a prime suspect in the case, and since the male lead from the show still hadn't turned up the whole thing was growing rather cold. He suspected Sherlock wasn't quite giving this one his all either, knowing it would perturb his older brother. Still, Greg had to do his part so he knocked gingerly on the apartment door, and waited. And waited. And waited. He couldn't hear any noise on the other side, and he wondered if perhaps Ms. Montgomery might be in bed.

"Ms. Montgomery. It's DI Lestrade. Greg. Needed to talk to you." he called. Still, no noise, not even the sound of movement or feet scuffling across carpet. Considering she was potentially in danger, he tried the knob and found the door very much unlocked. He called again, "Ms. Montgomery! Are you at home?" but he was met with emptiness, pyjamas with sushi pattern tossed on the floor, bed unmade and the place impeccably clean. Something didn't feel right, and since he'd made it this far in his career going off his gut he figured now was as good a time as any. Making his way out of the building in a hurry he flew into his car and began dialing Mycroft's mobile. There was no answer. He dialed Sherlock then, but again no answer. "Bloody hell!" he cursed shoving his mobile into his pocket and taking a sharp illegal U-turn for the opposite end of Baker Street, car halting at 221B. 

"-Big brother wants me to help him find his shiny new toy, how very beneath you, Mycroft. Tell me is that sentiment talking?" Sherlock was stating in his most arrogant tone, mocking his elder brother.

"She is not a toy. She is a person of significant importance to this case and for all intents and purposes she seems to have disappeared." Mycroft countered, his voice firm.

"It would seem you are becoming a bit too involved in this case, brother. Perhaps you are letting your heart rule your head. And if I recall correctly Ms. Montgomery wanted no more affiliation with you." Sherlock mused. Greg ascended the stairs after hearing these words and took the opportunity to interject, finding the door open to the flat.

"I think it's best we consider Charlotte Montgomery missing until further information is found." Lestrade stated and grasping the attention of the two. He could see Mycroft was angry, although trying to appear cool and abject. His eyes had the slightest tinge of red beneath them, and his brow was vaguely furrowed where he was striving to keep it smooth. Mycroft gave a polite nod to Greg and then grabbed his umbrella perched at the butler by the door.

"I shall begin deploring MI6 resources to find Ms. Montgomery. Until then, I suggest you place your efforts in further research to the theatre phantom. Two birds, one stone and all that, brother mine." Mycroft stated calmly, before turning on the heel of his perfect and un-scuffed wing tipped shoe.

A cold chill and a severe coughing fit brought me back to consciousness, and the immense pain in my head made me wish I was still out. I tried to open my eyes but a massive light like in a dentist's office was shining down on me. Before I could stop myself I groaned and tried to find my hand to bring to my face. I found it strapped down by a leather band, and began to panic, my breathing seizing in my chest. I was completely immobile and to add to the horror I was naked on a cold metal gurney. I nearly let out a chuckle at my own stupidity and how very awful things had turned out. That was always me, laughing at the wrong things, terror pushing me to hysteria in the strangest of ways. All I could really think was how much my life was spiraling down a drain and into a sewer of bull shit. I hated that I couldn't turn my head, survey my surroundings and look for a way out. But who was I kidding? I was a debutante from Savannah, taught the boys play with guns and the girls played with baby dolls and tea sets. I had fight or flight instincts, but survival? Not so much. 

"Charlie. Charlie I'm so sorry. I did it. I killed Kat." Kendrick's voice said from my right, and I knew he must've been strapped down too. I closed my eyes a long moment and found comfort in his voice, because at least I wasn't completely alone.

"I know, Ken. Where are we? What happened?" I asked, and my voice was scratchy and hoarse and sounded terrible. I heard him sniffle loudly and waited patiently for his answer.

"It- it's the phantom. He drugged me. Gave me something weird, made me hallucinate and kidnap Kat. Then he- he-" but his voice broke off as I could only imagine the horror he was revisiting. I wanted to cry too, and would have had I not felt a bus had run me over, backed up over me and spun it's wheels as it pulled off. There was no question about it, I was in hell. Very carefully, I thought of the only thing I could and tried for a high pitched scream, futile perhaps, but considering I had no idea where I was it was well worth a try. Someone might hear me and call Scotland Yard, or my kidnapper would be summoned and he could get on with torturing and killing me. 

I didn't have to wait long when from somewhere above I heard urgent footsteps, but only one set and I figured I would at last face my demon. I wished like hell I'd had my clothes on. I felt vulnerable and exposed, as anyone would I imagine. The cold was biting into me and my chest was heavy. I knew I'd die down here and I wished my life had amounted to more. I wondered if Mycroft was looking for me, if he was worried. I needed to admit to myself that probably not, I was just a silyl girl who'd been infatuated with his beautiful eyes and brilliant mind. Still, it was nice to imagine his suit ruffled, his eyes filled with worry, his frantic MI6 agents scouring the city for me. I figured if I was dying I at least deserved that happy thought.


	13. Chapter 13

"Scream all you'd like, my angel. There is no one to hear you." a cold and calculative voice spoke as the door swung open to my cell. In strolled a raggedy man in a worn black tuxedo, dead red rose dangling from the lapel. His head was balding save for a ring of matted gray strings hanging down about his shoulders. He smelled foul, like chemicals and decay, mold and an implacable sour aroma. He leaned over me with a scalpel poised in his hand, dancing it near my cheeks and nose, causing my breath to hitch and panic to rise in me. I inhaled through my nose trying to calm myself, to find something inside of me that could instill some courage. It was by far the hardest thing I'd ever done, nothing in my life had prepared me for this. Maybe I could bide my time, keep him talking in case someone heard my scream and he was just bluffing. 

"Who- who are you?" I finally stuttered, shivering cold. He ran his nose along mine and like a child with a shiny toy he danced his fingers down my side. I shivered deeper and had I eaten anything at all that day I'd probably have thrown up, or well, maybe it had been a few days. In all honesty I lost time while I was knocked out. Maybe it was days. That sent panic through me as I thought about the odds anyone was looking for me still, likely Scotland Yard had long since given up. I was utterly doomed. The cretin that had killed my best friend, harmed Kendrick beyond repair and now had me at his complete mercy began speaking finally.

"I am the Phantom, beautiful girl. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." he whispered in my ear making me gag.

"You won't get away with this. Sooner or later, you'll be caught. You always are." I stated firmly, disgust fueling a hateful fire in my belly making me braver.

"Charlie no. Please. Don't make him angry. He- he'll make me watch again." Kendrick sobbed from my right.

"Manners, my pet. Didn't your mother teach you better?!" he roared, his voice beginning soft and his sudden shriek causing my vocal chords to run away. Holy buckets this guy was mental. Still, if it was manners he wanted, I think I could give him some if it meant more talk and less torture. I'm not exactly the advocate for pain, my parents beat me most of my life so I could take it but I certainly didn't want to. _My parents._ Would they be notified I was missing? Would they be told I was dead? How would they react? My mother would put on a show. Suffice it to say I gathered some of my skills as an actress from Colleen Montgomery.

"Pleased to meet you, Phantom. My name is Charlotte." I say and my voice comes out whimpering. I'm trying to be strong but God do I feel so helpless it saturates my every word.

"Ah you remind me of my beautiful Diana. Skin so soft and smooth, the way it glows beneath the theatre lights. You were just like her, begging to be taken as you sang like a bird for all the men in that audience." He said, pacing around me before bending and running his tongue against the length of my left cheek. I tried to keep my face smooth, to play the part and remain unaffected. I tried to become Lucy, taking what men did to her because it was the means of her survival. It worked and very carefully I began to speak to this monster again.

"What happened to her?" I whispered because I knew what he would say.

A sardonic smile crossed my tormentor's lips showing rotting teeth, "My Diana is no longer in this world, but waiting for me in the next. We were to be married you see, we were happy. Then, she met _him_. And I noticed every night after that she was displaying herself like a whore, singing like the desperate attention seeking song bird she was to the man descended from some Duke. He stole her! But I took her back, and left her right on that stage where she had seduced him, for him to see." He whispered, circling me like a vulture as he spoke and still caressing me with the scalpel, making small nicks but no slices, my skin so frozen cold I barely felt them.


	14. Chapter 14

To say Mycroft Holmes was worried was a vast understatement. Every lead he’d come across thus far had ran cold and Charlotte Montgomery had been missing for an entire 7 days, 42 hours, and eighteen minutes. It was madness, and with every passing moment he worried for the soft and delightful woman whom had stolen his heart upon first glance. His brilliant deduction skills had revealed to him the true nature of Charlotte, that she carried her heart before her for the entire world to see. She was brilliant in her own way and her sweet smile made him feel more human than any had in his life. For all of this, he had to believe she was still alive.

MI6 had just tracked her mobile device and recovered it from a dumpster just outside of the Grand Royal Drury Lane. It was long since drained of its battery and damaged from rain and exposure to the elements. Frowning, he continued his own research of the parents whom were surely worried after not hearing from their daughter. She was more than likely the apple of her father’s eyes, the diamond of her mother’s heart, and they probably would soon be turning up in his city to find out what Scotland Yard was doing to recover their darling girl. It would be Greg’s job to disclose the details of the investigation, to let them know they were doing all that they could. Sitting in the Diogenes Club he steepled his fingers against his lips and focused on the fire, all the while racking his brilliant mind for the details he had perhaps missed.

Sherlock was storming in moments later with his knowing sardonic smile and air of arrogance. By passing the rooms he found the one his elder brother frequented and entered with a flourish of his long coat. From the leather chair, Mycroft stood and Sherlock found an emotion in his brother’s eyes he’d yet to witness, hope. Mycroft never hoped, not for anything or anyone, and yet this emotion in the face of stone gave Sherlock pause, and he rushed to reveal his findings.

“Serial killers are so sentimental; this Phantom is no more than an old colleague of one Diana Janeiro. She was the first kill. This is our typical lover’s quarrel ending in murder. You are hunting Mr. Lucius Reddinger. And although he is clever, he is not that clever. He knew we were on his trail, and devised his scheme to drug and use our leading man Kendrick Rodriguez to kill the leading lady. It threw Lestrade off of his trail for a moment, long enough to gain another victim. I inspected the original design of the theater and there was a storage space built beneath it in 1833 which was closed in 1894 due to its fire hazards. It was not blocked off properly and is accessible through the trap door the stage no longer uses. Should your Charlotte Montgomery be alive, that is where he is keeping her.” Sherlock stated, relishing in the triumph of his solved murder. Mycroft merely remained passive; walking passed his brother and calling his driver.

I couldn’t place the smell flooding through the walls and cracks in the door, I only knew it was making it incredibly difficult to remain coherent. The Phantom was preparing to do his worst, his tools laid out beside me, of various shapes and sizes, all sharp and malicious in appearance. I didn’t want to be found that way, mutilated and raped. Something my oppressor informed me would be done when, “You are at last sleeping.” He had said. My lungs hurt from coughing and my ribs were bruised from it as well. I wished I was snuggled up in bed, watching Anastasia and eating my favorite macaroni and cheese. For a moment, my fevered brain took me there and I dreamed it all in vivid color, hearing Anya sing Once Upon A December.

Mycroft was in full command once the wall was crushed and the door to the storage antechamber was down. Inside he found the assailant unconscious between two metal gurneys. Once his eyes fell on Ms. Montgomery he ordered his agents to turn away, finding her naked and unconscious. He could not fathom the horrors she had possibly endured and would reserve at least her modesty. Her skin was dotted with shallow red cuts the size of a thumbnail edge, her hair was matted and tangled and she was pale. So pale save for the red flourishing in her cheeks.

With deft fingers and behaving far more calmly than he felt, he released her leather binds and slipped from his shoulders his perfectly tailored jacket. Delicately he pulled Charlotte against him, her breasts pressed to his vest front and eased the jacket over her shoulders, closing it around her front as much as possible. He placed one arm tenderly beneath her knees and the other across her shoulders and with precision and grace he carried her from the room.

“Get Mr. Rodriguez to a hospital immediately.” He instructed as he cradled her face against his chest and felt her burning skin through his vest. She was shaking and he could feel her labored breathing against his arm across her back. It was breaking him.

The smell that assaulted my nose was beautiful, like sandalwood and spices, a delicious smell of cologne and cleanliness like laundry detergent. It was a welcome reprieve after what I’d been through. I was also warm, snuggled into soft satin and something strong held me. I thought perhaps I was dead, that my assailant had finally done the deed. Then as my eyes parted slightly I saw flashing red and blue lights, glaring intrusively into my vision and brain. It hurt but I was pretty sure I’d been rescued. I felt safe and weak and sick, so I allowed myself to drift off in the slumber of the drugs in my system.


	15. Chapter 15

_I’m standing in the kitchen as my father stands over my report card._  
_It’s my first C. It’s unacceptable._  
_He grabs my arms. He’s shouting. “Why are you so stupid?”_  
_I instantly begin to cry._  
_He rears back and smacks me across the cheek._  
_I hit the floor, my entire half of my face is on fire._  
_I try to mumble my apologies._  
_“You’re a waste of air, a waste of my seed. You’re the reason your mother can’t give me a son.”_  
_“I wish you’d never been born.”_  
_So do I Dad. So do I._  
_Then the Phantom is there, running towards me and I can’t get away._  
_I’m screaming. Dad only shakes his head, “He’s doing what I should have years ago.”_

I am conscious momentarily, the room is dim and there’s something weird in my nose. I inhale softly and cough ferociously as an aftermath. I groan because I am sore. I don’t open my eyes fully, I just want to sleep. I am warm, the bed is like a fluffy cloud around me and I am at peace. Vaguely, I hear voices just beyond the comfort of this bed.

“She has severe pneumonia. I’ve given her a powerful round of antibiotics and she should be well in a couple of days. Keep in her bed as long as you can. She needs rest, but I’d venture to say she’s so strong because she’s rather stubborn.” A soft and kind voice said, and I assumed I was the "her" in question.

“Thank you, Doctor Watson. What of the nightmares?” Mycroft asked, and I heard such sadness and worry in his calm and perfect voice.

“What she’s been through is pretty traumatic. Although, she’s been heavily sedated. I wonder if maybe the emotional scars go back further. You don’t know much about her, but she might have a tormented past.” Dr. Watson answered, his voice still kind but filling with a concern I’d never known. Were these complete strangers worried about me?

“I shall handle her with utmost care. Thank you again for your delicacy in this matter.” Mycroft answered and as I felt him cross the room, he placed a soft hand on my brow and tenderly brushed a warm wet cloth over my forehead and cheeks. In an instant I was back asleep, knowing I was cared for. And safe.

The nightmares resurface, and his warm gentle voice, his lips against my hair, they fade as I come to and then drift off again to a peaceful slumber. I’m frightened, and he chases my demons. I dream about my parents, over and over, he steps in while I’m crouched behind the bookshelf and shields me as a child. The glass bottle flies at me again, he opens his umbrella and the shards do not breach its protection. I am just a little girl, but he is guarding me. He won’t let them hurt me, ever again.

I am awake for the first time in days, tired of sleeping. I let out a sleepy moan and open my eyes for the first time in who knows how long. I don’t panic as I stare up at the ceiling and smell flowers, fresh country roses. Sunlight streams from classic antebellum windows and I attempt to stretch my aching form. I have no doubt been through absolute hell, but as I look around at the beautiful bedroom with its slate gray walls, masculine furniture I feel like I am in heaven.

“Easy, my darling. Your body is weak.” A soft voice says in a calm whisper and in an instant the bed dips and my fingers are in his palm. Mycroft sits beside me, eyes dark underneath, not a ginger hair out of place and his eyes so soft and as mesmerizing as ever. He wears his customary three piece suit, tan with a pale green tie and pocket handkerchief and I am in awe. I am in his room, in his bed and as I look over to my left, there is an occasional chair pulled close, cup of tea and the paper on the nightstand. I smile at him and I see the effect it has, see his returning grin.

“You… you looked after me.” I whisper, my voice not yet returned.

“Dr. Watson looked after you. I merely enforced his prescribed plan of recovery and ensured you were monitored should complications arise.” He answered mildly, becoming the cool and calm man I’d met before. I smiled at him still, he had saved me, and he had rescued me. Then it dawned on me the state of undress he must have found me in and I glanced down. Peeking just beneath the covers, my torso and chest were covered in a beautiful pale pink sleeping gown. I blushed furiously thinking over how I had been so naked and vulnerable, for all eyes to see.

With his powerful skills of deduction he knew what I was thinking and quickly began to speak, “I assure you, Ms. Montgomery I am well acquainted with the female anatomy, however your modesty was reserved when MI6 located you as I did not allow my agents to see you in your state of undress. I covered you with my coat and carried you out. As it happens, Dr. Watson dressed you upon treating your pneumonia, as he is a happily married man with morals the likes of which are unearthly.”. Frankly, I was smiling a lot for someone who had nearly died and had been kidnapped and nearly tortured.

“However, should one have been looking at the anatomy in question, one would be inclined to inform the concerned party that it is a rather perfect and entirely beautiful specimen that any warm blooded male should be fortunate enough to worship.” He added, his smile increasing and I believe I witnessed the stuffy and wound tight Mycroft Holmes wink at me.


	16. Chapter 16

It was a couple of days before I was able to get out of the bed of Mycroft Holmes. I relished in being in his sleeping space, the smell of his bedroom and the way I could imagine he probably moved about the space. This was where I knew he shed all of his facades, where the important, internationally renowned man could breathe outside of his suits and negotiations and foreign affairs. He stayed near my bedside every moment he could spare, and we spoke of books and sometimes even his work. He would let me sleep and disappear, but always returned to ensure I was feeling better not worst. I was touched by his care, because no one had done so before.

After days in bed I decided a shower was very much overdue, as I was covered in a layer of ickiness. Being sick makes me feel so gross, and after what I’d been through I wanted to wash it all away, the dirtiness of that room I was trapped within, the horrible caresses of my tormentor. All of it. Mycroft insisted on assisting me from his bed, and I’m grateful because I had not anticipated my legs being the consistency of jelly. His hands were firm and yet gentle as he held me close, my short form flush against his long lean body. I could feel his warmth and for a moment his eyes were locked in mine, and our breathing mingled as I licked my lips. I wanted desperately to kiss him, but could only imagine what my breath probably smelled like so, I looked away.

Mycroft relinquished one of his all-knowing grins and gestured to the double doors to my left.

“I believe you will find everything you need inside. Please make a list of anything you require and I assure you it will be on hand expeditiously.” He answered and nodding my head I entered the room and closed the doors, smiling at him from the crack as it closed.

The bathroom was massive, probably the size of my apartment in Queens. The walls were slate gray and white stones, as if I’d stepped inside a secret cavern in a waterfall. The shower was massive with a long bench and dozens of sprayers and a handheld massaging head. Laying on the bathroom counter of pristine emerald marble was a pink toothbrush, my favorite whitening tooth paste, a razor, the toasted vanilla sugar body wash I always used, my preferred coconut shampoo and the conditioner. I figured it might seem a bit creepy he knew all of my favorite toiletries, but another part of me was so grateful, because I would take this for what it was. A gesture of comfort, to make me feel happy and give me something familiar.

On a wrought iron chair pulled to the vanity were my favorite sushi pajamas, freshly laundered, and on the floor beside them my pink monster feet slippers. As I made my way over to the massive shower, I noticed carefully laid instructions for turning it on and followed them. The water came out warm and welcoming, and grabbing my shower things I slipped inside. I soaked for several minutes thinking about Mycroft. Truth be told, I knew I was falling for him hard and fiercely. He was unlike anyone I’d known, his intelligence was beyond measure, and he was kind. Sherlock had referred to him as the Iceman, but what I saw in him was warmth every time he looked at me or touched me. If he had really only been using me to solve this case, he'd have never taken a personal interest in my rescue and recovery. And for now, I felt I could forgive him anything if I could stay in his shower forever.

I turned to the slate gray stone bench and before grabbing my shampoo I noticed a small dock in the wall, with a tiny pink ipod perched inside. It was my ipod. I flung the water from my fingers and slid open the glass, scrolling through and choosing My Fight Song by Rachel Platten and smiled. As I began lathering my roots I found myself singing the words, the acoustics in the bathroom perfect. I needed to build myself back up, I missed Kat, and I was sure Mycroft had made sure Ken was getting optimum care, but I had survived. The universe had derailed me to near death and yet here I stood. Not that I wanted to take all of the credit, and I would well remember to thank Mycroft for saving my life at the soonest chance I got.

Smooth, clean and smelling much better, I brushed my teeth and dressed. I spent the time blow drying my thick auburn hair and felt like a new woman. My pink monster feet slippers warmed my toes and carefully I exited the wash room, a deep breath of relief leaving my lungs. I felt calm and better, so much better.


	17. Chapter 17

A tall man stood in Mycroft’s doorway, and he reminded me of Mr. Andrews from the movie Titanic. He had those sparkling silver eyes, kind smile and silver waves. I smiled at him tentatively.

“Ms. Montgomery, I am to escort you to meet with Mr. Holmes.” He said in a formal Irish accent and I decided I liked him immediately. I nodded gingerly as he led me out of the master bedroom and into a high ceiling hallway. The walls were dark gold and decorated with fine paintings, mostly landscapes of oceans and stormy seas. I knew the house I currently found myself residing with in was massive, a castle befitting the heart of the English government. A tasteful vase filled with poppies adorned a table as I continued my trek with my Mr. Andrews friend. There were tea rooms, sitting rooms, so many I lost count before finally we arrived before an inconspicuous looking dark blue door with an ornate silver handle. The butler pulled the door open and gestured for me to go inside.

As I did I found the floor sloping upwards, slightly at an angle and as I rounded a corner I realized I was in a movie theater of sorts. I gasped and looked around at the dark gray wall hangings and silver sconces with dimmed lights. There were three rows of six seats and situated behind them at an angle was a cozy looking brown leather couch, shaped more like a pit for snuggling into for watching movies in. Standing beside a tray with a domed lid topping it was my rescuer. He looked relaxed, still donning navy blue dress slacks, but gone was the stiff shirt and vest, leaving him in a pale gray sweater. His feet were adorned with argyle socks in matching colors and everything about him still exuded the official man he was.

“I had thought you would perhaps be a bit famished, so I took the liberty of anticipating your condition and had my cook prepare some bisque and light bread.” He stated, an eyebrow quirked as always. I continued grinning like a fool at him.

“You wouldn’t still be trying to make amends now would you, Mr. Holmes?” I asked with a sideways grin and my arms crossed. Then, his features fell and he looked down, pondering his response for a moment. Then, he crossed the space to me and ran those warm hands down my bare arms.

“My dear Charlotte. Everyone I have ever encountered has held in their eyes disdain, mistrust, and intimidation when they view my persons. You had not. Not even when we were formerly introduced on stage. You were confident and all I saw in you was admiration. I could not bear that I forced the same view from you as the rest of the world. I would very much, like to make amends.” He stated, his blue eyes locked with mine as he spoke, his features softening and regret pulling down the corners of his mouth. I was moved by his words, just as I had been that first night on the stage. My heart was racing at the proximity and the way he eyed me, like a precious gem being stolen by a thief in the night. I wanted to comfort this sad looking man.

“I believe saving my life constitutes amends. All is forgiven, Mycroft.” I stated, and I meant it. I was hurt that night, betrayed by the universe and the man I had hoped had cared for me.

His mouth became a hard line before he bit out, “I should have located that monster and you in a more expeditious manner. I should have-“ and he cut himself off, shaking his head and looking at me again. Tentatively, I reached my hand to his chest and felt the soft and fine material of his sweater, gaining a sharp intake of breath from his lips.

“Thank you. For saving my life. And for caring for me. And yes I’m rather hungry.” I said, smiling at him. Delicately he laid his hand over mine on his chest and inhaled deeply, as if he were savoring my touch, as if no one had touched him so tenderly before. With his other arm he pulled me close and kissed the top of my head, embracing me momentarily before letting me go.

“Shall we then?” he asked gesturing for the large couch and allowing me to snuggle into the plush leather. I settled and he placed a pillow and the soup in my lap, a blanket over my legs and eased himself beside me. I was still so blown away by this beautiful man, by his kindness and interest in me. The lobster bisque was so delicious I had to retract a groan of delight.

“I fear my cinema collection is rather dull. I thought perhaps we might partake in a viewing of one of my most favored films. Amadeus.” He said, reaching behind to turn on the projector.

“Amadeus? The composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart?” I asked smiling before nibbling on some of the delicious and buttery bread.

“Yes. It’s incredibly accurate in its depiction and the music is on par with how Mozart himself would have it heard. I should think you will rather enjoy it.” I smiled at him as the score began and the movie began reeling.


	18. Chapter 18

Who would have thought Mycroft Holmes’ favorite movie was a comedy? It was a wonderful film, packed with beautiful music, talented acting, laughs and romance. I adored it very much, and my only regret is that I had not seen it sooner. I laughed, I sighed, and with each reaction I felt those blue eyes on my profile and carefully I turned to assess his expression. He was always so stoic, I was surprised to find a pleased grin on his face. I felt myself blushing because I honestly had never known anyone to watch me watch a film. It wasn’t unnerving, just different.

I carefully gave him a sideways grin and quirked a brow, prompting him to answer my unasked question, “When you’re guard is down, I am utterly captivated by the clear feelings on your face. I have viewed this film countless times. I envy your position, viewing it for the first time.” And carefully he grasped my hand and lifted my knuckles to his lips, his eyes boring into mine. My breathing hitched at the feather light touch, something so simple was somehow so intimate and romantic. There was nothing I wanted more than to belong to this man, and I knew I was in far deeper than I could admit. How could I be so in love with someone I’d only just met?

I closed the distance between us and leaned up on my knees looking at him, his face turned up to mine expectantly. Carefully, I traced the line of his cheek as Mozart played in time with my movements, making it feel like my life was the film. He grabbed my wrist tenderly and kissed where my pulse was practically jumping out of my veins.

“This is very foreign to me, Charlotte. I have never felt so strongly about another being upon first glance. It defies ages of my vast neurological and inner cranial knowledge. I would be remiss to inform you I might disappoint you in terms of our relationship.” He stated, his voice low and soft, his eyes fixated on mine in the most entrancing way. I realized I was holding my breath and when he visibly inhaled through his nose and let it out I found myself mimicking his actions in sync, trying to digest his words.

“Relationship? With me?” I asked, more so questioning my upbringing and status rather than looks. I knew I was pretty, heck I could be damn foxy in the right shoes and outfit, but weren’t all British people infatuated with titles and money? What did I bring to the relationship other than my pretty face? And yet he had just admitted to me that he wanted me, but had misgivings of disappointment. And a man like Mycroft Holmes did not voice his misgivings, not aloud and not unless he was incredibly intimate with a person. Apparently, I was that person.

“Charlotte, I merely hold a minor position in the British government. The only person who might care to know whom I am sharing my time with would be mother. She’s a bit of a romantic and I manage to visit only on the occasional holiday. You are a rather marvelous woman, I’d never seen strength like yours in the face of adversity. I once thought, courage was the kindest word for stupidity. But your courage is so different, moving to a city you’ve never even toured and beginning a new life? I’m not sure I am capable of such drastic measures of change.” He said to me, playing with my fingers all the while, touching my palm and the lines in it, as if he relished even being able to.

“We hardly know each other.” I whispered and thought to myself really Charlie? That’s the best you can do? I had promised myself long ago, that when complete and total knock your socks off- like the movies-prince charming comes riding in-perfect romance stormed into my life I would grab it by its horns or wings and hold on for dear life. My brain was misfiring because this man, reserved, stoic and cynical was actually confessing his feelings for me, and while I knew next to none about him I knew he was baring his soul. And I knew the Iceman didn’t bare his soul, at all. Even his own flesh and blood thought he was indestructible, unreachable emotionally. It was a lot to take in.

“I want to know everything I can about you. The first car you drove, who your parents are, where you grew up, where you spent your childhood. I want to know your favorite icecream and how you take your tea. All of it.” He whispered and I was again, winded. Carefully, he sat up from his relaxed pose on the sofa and tugged me onto his lap, so that I was sitting sideways, still my brain to mouth function shut down and I had no words. He wanted me.

“Ms. Montgomery, may I kiss you?” he asked, polite and noble as a knight, and when my mouth finally decided working again it didn’t filter in a way to make me sound less desperate.

“Oh please.” I heard my husky whisper, and in an instant his hand splayed across the back of my shoulders and his other hand released my hand and eased up my neck, grasping my hair from underneath, just behind my left ear. At first all I could do was feel the way his kiss seemed to travel through my bloodstream like a drug. Every cell of my existence, all of the tissues in my muscles, every drop of water in my system was on fire in the most delicious way. I kissed him back fervently, and as he deepened the kiss his hand in my hair tightened and I felt his fingers flex across my shoulders. I touched his chest again, my fingers dancing over his chest and the fine material of his sweater. This was heaven.

After a moment we came up for air, so to speak, and gently he kissed the pads of my fingers. I was so turned on I wanted him to take me right then and there. But, he was a gentleman, and I was a well-bred southern lady. I was not that kind of girl. On top of that I was exhausted, so when he released me I eased down to lay my head against his chest, curled on my side and continued watching the film, at ease and yet overwhelmed that I was apparently dating the one and only Mycroft Holmes.

Sometime later, I was asleep and stirred as I felt myself lifted from my comfortable warm spot against him.

“Sorry I’m so tired.” I muttered sleepily, knowing my vowels were longer and more lazy now.

“Not to worry, my dearest Charlotte. I’m merely putting you to bed.” He whispered, and I heard the kind, sweet smile in his voice. Then, I was in a cloud, safely tucked into warm blankets and sheets, hands curled close to my face as I dreamily slumbered, deep and untroubled.


	19. Chapter 19

I hadn’t cared what day it was while I was under Mycroft’s care, I didn’t know the time. My phone had long since been gone, but when I figured out it was Sunday I realized I was expected to start my first day at the museum the next day. I was feeling much better, stronger even and craved normalcy. I showered and dressed in a pale pink cowl neck sweater and leggings and decided to seek out my rescuer. There was a door joining his bedroom to his personal office, and I realized I liked this house. It was designed in the eighteenth century, when women donned corsets and petticoats, and men did not sleep beside their wives. His office was what would have been the dressing room. The door was open so I let myself in and immediately stopped in my tracks.

He apparently hadn’t heard me or noticed my presence, and I found him with his lean form folded into his leather chair, files upon files on his desk as he stared intently down, but he wasn’t reading whatever was laid out before him. In that moment, I saw the vulnerable man beneath the ice. He looked so weary, as if the entire world were demanding him to come to its rescue, and he was having to make some sort of sacrifice. It was like he had to choose which battle, which lives would be saved and which would not. It was burden I could not imagine, and I decided then it was the last time he would save me. I wouldn’t be another damsel or case on his over flowing plate of issues needing resolution.

Feeling like the intruder I was, I delicately cleared my throat to notify him of my arrival. His eyes immediately found mine, and as the features of his fine aristocratic face smoothed I let out an audible gasp. Was I a reprieve for this man? Did I offer him peace and consolation when what he did for the greater good was not enough? Maybe I was thinking too highly of myself, but it was a wonderful thought. The idea of being something to this troubled and lonely man.

“I have work tomorrow. My new job. I think it would be good for me to get back to my apartment and get everything ready.” I said softly.

Concern marred his brow again, “Are you certain you’re feeling well enough?” he asked, and I could tell by his tone he wasn’t very happy. Delicately I crossed the room to stand by his seat, where he took my waist in his capable hands and pulled me into his lap, my arms lacing about his neck.

“Yes. You’ve taken marvelous care of me and I feel right as rain. No one’s ever done that for me.” I said to him, smiling sweetly.

“Your mother or father never looked after you in illness?” he asked, and I tried hard not to blanch at the mention of the people who created me. He saw too much, and I simply shook my head, trying to recover and appear nonchalant.

“Born to a privileged family, the nanny took care of me. Or the boarding school nurse.” I answered shrugging a shoulder. He knew I was hiding something, the way his expression was completely bland and he eyed me as if he already knew, thinking it would provoke me to fill him in. As I said before, I don’t tell anyone my sob story. My past will never define me, it makes me stronger but going back changes nothing. The last person I wanted to see pitying me was Mycroft, not after knowing he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I’m fine. Honest. I’m not ready to see Ken yet. I don’t think he’s ready to see me. Work is the normalcy I need. Besides you have the world to rule and all that. I’m starting to feel like an old dog lying around your house.” I said rolling my eyes, and he returned my look with a genuine smile. My favorite smile.

“I should very much relish in the idea of seeing you again this week. Perhaps I could take you to lunch? Not to mention, I have a foreign relations charity gala for third world countries this Saturday evening, you wouldn’t perhaps entertain the notion of being my…date?” he asked. I didn’t hesitate as I leaned in, grasped his neck with one hand and kissed him with my other on his cheek. He tasted faintly of scotch and it was sweet and delicious. I loved kissing him; his lips were experienced and soft, wonderful and applying light pressure that made my toes curl with wanton desire.

I was confused when he lifted me from his lap, putting distance between us and leaving me dizzy from his heated kiss. I looked at him confused a moment and then I noticed the color in his cheeks and realized Mycroft Holmes, stuffy and wound tight in a perfect three piece suit, was blushing. He cleared his throat delicately and tried to look anywhere but at me as he pulled his chair closer in to his desk.

“I shall… ehem… join you in a moment. I’ll have Calvin bring the car round and I shall escort you home.” He said, carefully shuffling papers about and then giving me an abashed look. Then it hit me like a battle ax and quickly I nodded and left his office. As I closed the door behind my back I was blushing because I was pretty sure I’d given him a rise in his trousers. And he was blushing. I felt like a sexy goddess and found myself swinging my hips as I began searching around for any belongings I should gather from his place.


	20. Chapter 20

Monday morning came early and I dressed smartly in a black tank top,pale pink tulle skirt and pointed toe ballet flats to match. I shrugged into a light denim jacket and was out of the door in plenty of time to hit the tube to the museum. As I briskly walked down the street I noticed a small café called Speedy’s and thought I’d grab a cup of coffee. I needed all the brain fuel I could get, and given my excitement for my new job I hadn’t slept as well as I’d have liked. I was just grabbing my cup from the to-go counter when I heard a soft and familiar voice.

“Ms. Montgomery? Nice to see you again.” He said as I turned and looked at a man an inch or two taller than myself with kind pale blue eyes and fair hair. I smiled kindly and took his outstretched hand.

“I- uh-“ I stammered.

“It’s okay. You were pretty out of it and we were never properly introduced. Dr. John Watson. Just John though.” He said and I immediately tried to keep the flame from my cheeks. He was the man, according to Mycroft, that had dressed me and treated my illness. He had such kind eyes, a soft way about him and immediately my embarrassment diminished. He was a doctor after all, a professional, and he had a gentle voice and warmth about him, like a favorite uncle had I known such a thing.

“Right of course. Charlie, please. Nice to meet you while I’m actually coherent.” I said shaking my head and smiling. He tilted his head at a curious angle and smiled back without showing his teeth.

“You live near here?” he asked.

“I do. 234J actually. I just moved in a few weeks ago. Although technically I’ve barely stayed there at all.” I said laughing as I tended to do when I was being friendly, “What about you?” I asked.

“Just popped by to visit Sherlock. He’s in a mood.” He muttered pursing his lips.

“Ah yes, Mycroft’s younger brother. If when I first met him he was in a good mood, I can only imagine what he must be like in a foul one.” I said smiling, not forgetting the rather brash and insensitive way I had been treated by the younger Holmes sibling.

“Yes well, that’s love I suppose. You take the good with the bad.” He answered mildly, but something about the way his eyes lit up I could tell there was more to the story. Coffee at last in hand I thanked him and he held open the door for me to leave. I was sad to be parting ways from him, suddenly feeling an aching loneliness that was familiar in the most long forgotten and stifled ways.

“You and Sherlock should come by my place for dinner tonight. I’m a pretty excellent cook.” I said to him and he nodded kindly. 

"That would be lovely. What time?" He answered happily. I figured I didn’t have any friends in London anymore and if I was ever going to heal emotionally I’d need to make some. It was the least I could do considering the man had treated me for severe pneumonia, and I doubted I’d be seeing a doctor’s bill. Not to mention I was nearly positive Sherlock helped in making sure I was recovered from that psychopath, even if Mycroft would never confess it. 

"7?" I asked and he nodded before making his way down the street.

My first day was an absolute whirlwind and the museum immediately put me on a Shakespeare project. With my theatre knowledge and artistic tendencies they wanted me to oversee the culmination of The Midsummer Night’s Dream exhibit. It would highlight the inspiration to Shakespeare’s whimsical tales, showcase various pieces of original writing and poetry, and needed to be bright and glittering to draw attention from visitors. I spent much of the day planning, and delicately handling the scripts with which we would open the exhibit. I was beyond excited and wanted my choices to appeal to an audience of both young and old.

Before I knew it my day had flown by and my new manager, Mr. Cross forced me to take lunch. He was a kind man, older with thinning brown hair, small glasses and a soft voice. I think he rather liked me too, because when I spoke to him of my ideas he merely grinned and nodded, listening intently and making no changes. It was nice to know I was good at something other than being on stage.

At four my day concluded and Mr. Cross congratulated me on my first day, informing me he was delighted to have me on his team. A part of me wanted to hug in and thank him for he opportunity, but sticking to propriety I merely smiled and bid him good day. Ascending the front steps of the small museum I was not in the least surprised to find a country green jaguar waiting patiently by he curb, the door held open and a perfect three piece suited man brandishing an umbrella waiting. I smiled as he held my hand and escorted me inside of the plush leather confines.

As the car pulled away he kissed my knuckles before grasping my cheek and planting his lips softly against my mouth. 

"How was your first day of your new employment, Ms. Montgomery?" He asked and my face fell. Really? We were back to Ms. Montgomery? The man had seen me naked! He'd opened up to me! He was my... boyfriend? That seemed just such a silly way to describe him but in lamens terms that's what he was. So why all the formality? I wasn't about to call him Mr. Holmes after all.

"Don't you think we've passed the Ms. Montgomery formality? Everyone calls me Charlie." I said, trying to sound as normal and calm as possible, rather than annoyed.

“I should prefer to call you anything but Charlie. I find the name masculine, while you, my pet. Well, there is not a cell or portion of you which is masculine. May I, perhaps, address you as Charlotte? Or perhaps Ruth?” he asked and my cheeks flamed.

“No one calls me Ruth. No one ever has.” I replied tersely. Really? He couldn’t just call me Charlie like the rest of the world? Heck, my nametag at work was going to say Charlie, I took my ID photo today for it.

Caressing the back of his fingers down my face made me realize I had turned in my seat and our faces were inches apart. My lips parted at the gentleness of his touch and all that irritation simply melted from me.

“I’m rather fond of Ruth. Where thou goest I will go. Where thou lodges I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people.” He whispered. My toes curled hearing him so beautifully quote the passage from which I was named, and I could no longer stop myself. He didn't strike me as the religious type but something in me just melted at the sound of Bible verses from his mouth. I clambered across the seat and pressed my lips against his while my fingers brushed his cheeks and then his hair. I heard his barely audible gasp as he kissed me back, fervently caressing my back and gripping me at the base of my neck and hair.

It suddenly occurred to me that I should keep this kiss from becoming too heated as his personal driver was not very far from where we sat. Carefully I eased myself from his lap and rearranged my skirt. Clearing my throat I tried to appear demure as I looked at Mycroft.

“You rather deterred me from the concerns at hand. How was your first day of employment?” he asked and immediately I began telling him about my new project. I was so excited and happy about it I spoke quickly and energetically, my enthusiasm causing me to start speaking with my hands. Mycroft chuckled happily and listened intently.

“If not for the delightful drawl in your vowels, Ruth, one might confuse you for a northern woman based on the acceleration of your speech.”. Did he miss anything? Before I had a chance to even think about being embarrassed he grasped my chin and pulled my eyes to his, “I am truly delighted to see you content, excited even. There is a spark within you that has called me since first I laid eyes on you, a beacon from a lighthouse calling my lonely ship home. When you were taken, when you lay in my bed ill, I feared that spark would be suffocated.” He said to me, so sincere, emotion setting his eyes to such a depth of blue it was causing my heart to sink.

This conversation was so deep, I had to pull him from his dark reverie so at last I said, “Can you join us for dinner? I’m cooking.”.

“Us?” he asked, lifting that brow carefully.

“Oh right! I ran into Dr. Watson this morning at Speedy’s café. I invited him for dinner, and Sherlock.” I answer and he stiffens, obviously unhappy.

“Unfortunately I must return to work. I merely wished to ensure you made it to your new residence safely. I was also intrigued to hear of your first day.” He answered with the corners of his mouth pulling down.

Carefully, I touch his arm and pull his eyes back to me and find them filled with anger… fear?

“You don’t want me spending time with them? With Sherlock?” I ask, feeling like I have committed some unspeakable transgression.

“My brother thinks of me has his arch nemesis, I do not foresee him speaking of me in a way that is complimentary.” He states rather sharply and I breathe in deep. Does he really think my thoughts on him could be swayed by his arrogant little brother? I consider canceling and then realize that goes against years of how I was raised and who I am. A southern belle never extends a dinner invitation and then cancels. Too soon the car has stopped in front of building 234 on Baker Street and Mycroft eases from the car, holding out his hand to escort me from the car.

He’s almost sullen so I brush my hand down his face and look at him, taking in the ice over his eyes shielding me from his true emotions. Mycroft is a complicated man, so I knew to tread lightly, but also, I wanted to erase any trace of upset or worry from him, he had enough on his plate balancing the whole world. Finally, I had an idea and smiled up at him genuinely.

“Perhaps Thursday we could have lunch in Hyde Park. I’ve always wanted to picnic there.” I say and carefully his eyes warm and I see him grinning, a questioning brow quirked in my favorite way.

“Hyde park? I shall arrange it on my calendar. Shall I have my driver collect you?” he asks, his focus on his blackberry as he puts the appointment in.

“Whatever you'd like. Just leave the picnic packing to me.” I wink and lean up to plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth. He briefly appears surprised and delighted, before kissing my fingers and easing himself gracefully back into the seat. The windows are dark but somehow I knew, as the jaguar pulled away he was gazing out of the window at me, smiling like an eager young boy.


	21. Chapter 21

I watched the jaguar pull away and made my way down the block to the market. As I perused the aisles, I decided simplicity would be best for my dinner guests. I decided on chicken fettucine with my homemade Alfredo sauce and garlic bread. I was hoping Sherlock and John weren’t picky eaters, but if either of the two were I knew it would be Sherlock. I remained optimistic though, deciding no one could resist the smell of garlic bread, and I was really hoping for an enjoyable evening. I was excited for my first dinner party, in my brand new apartment no less, and as I busied myself in the kitchen I turned on my beloved iPod and danced around to my favorite Broadway tunes.

When I paused a moment to ensure my flat was clean, I noticed something I hadn’t upon first coming in the door. I was so distracted with wanting to have dinner ready and hot when my guests arrived I hadn’t had time to ponder what seemed new to my apartment. Then, as I glanced at my bookshelves, I found all of them filled with my precious books. Upon closer glance, I found each of them artfully arranged by date of completion, something I etched in the back of each cover. The shipping boxes were gone, no evidence these had been unpacked and yet here they were, my personal library neatly organized and shelved. I smiled because I knew who was behind it, and was even more thrilled when I found a new book at the very end of the middle shelve, a book mark tucked inside a page.

_Love Poems of Great Men_ , the title read, and in neatly scrawled transcript the card read:

_To Add to Your Expansive Collection._

_Congratulations On Your First Day._

_In awe of you, M._

I couldn’t believe it and it was by far the most romantic display anyone had graced me with. In some ways, his romantic gestures floored me. Someone so serious, so placid and stoic towards the world couldn’t possibly be capable of such devotion. And yet the proof was right before me of the depth of his heart. I knew then, I was falling for Mycroft Holmes. Perhaps falling was not quite the right word, perhaps I fell long before now. I just kept thinking of how obsessed with love I had been since a young child, dreaming of fairytales and romance like any avid Jane Austen fan would. I also knew reality was far less kind than my books, and I’d been disappointed when a boy would crawl all over me trying to get into my panties, sans romance. I couldn’t love him so soon, I couldn’t get attached like this, because nothing was certain and what if he tired of me? What did I offer Mycroft Holmes, aside from something sweet and different, something beyond his usual refined well-bred women, simply a bed to pass the time away in. Oh, but the tenderness of his kiss, the way he asked my permission, as if it was absolutely unforgivable to do so without my allowing him to. Regardless of whether I was a distraction or a toy, I would continue to see him. I was far too gone already.

I was pulled from these wondering thoughts by a knock on the door and quickly I shoved the mark back inside the book and slid it back into place. Smoothing my hands over my skirt and shaking my fingers through my hair I ran to the door and opened it with a bright, warm smile. On my steps stood John and Sherlock, John beaming with a bottle of wine in hand with Sherlock just beyond his shoulder looking a tad disgruntled. For all I knew this could have been a consistent expression of the younger Holmes. I gestured them both in happily and watched as Sherlock scoped my place out looking for clues. I knew he wanted to surmise all that he could of my surroundings in hopes of figuring me out. From what I could tell, he wouldn't get much. I’d beat him at this game, I liked the challenge and he was sure he already figured me out. Arrogance poured off of him in magnetic waves.

"It's very nice of you to have us, Charlie. Not sure if this wine is any good, but hated to show up empty handed." John said, passing me the bottle while Sherlock carefully eyed my book cases. 

"Oh you didn't have to bring a thing! But I'll open it up and pour some glasses." and so began our night. 

I didn't have a proper dining room table so we joyfully gathered about the coffee table, John and Sherlock side by side on the couch and I, gracefully, on a throw pillow opposite them. I'm not quite sure if they were simply being polite but they seemed to really enjoy dinner. Afterwards, I put on a pot of tea and we continued to chat. I hadn't read Dr. Watson's blog but he was happy to regale me with tales of his and Sherlock's favorite cases. Sherlock began speaking when John seemed to embellish too much or exaggerate the story. I quickly found myself fond of this crime solving duo. And as they spoke, there was a curve to Sherlock's lips, a gentle smile he kept secret for John and only John. I wasn't sure if anyone else noticed it, but if he spoke of special moments when John's wits were more keen than his own, there was a vague pride in his voice and an air of love in his speech. It was quite beautiful to behold.

"So, Charlie, we've been awfully chatty about ourselves. Tell us about you. What brings you to London?" John asked. Before I could answer, Sherlock did, and said more words than I'd heard all evening from him.

"Ms. Montgomery is in London born of a risky decision to begin life anew, the bright lights of Broadway having dulled to her wandering mind and "spirit" so to speak. With the dialect and accent with which her vowels are elongated we can presume she is from the Southern parts of America, probably Georgia. Her manners are impeccable and our hostess has shown us genuine hospitality which means she has been trained and schooled in these behaviours from a young age. A debutante with rather wealthy parents and surname of a long legacy, historic in fact. Born and raised in the most historically rich town in the state she is from Savannah. The wrinkle on the spines of her books indicate she spent life by a large body of water indicating high humidity in the air, either near the main river and the surrounding areas. Am I correct?" He asked, quirking his brow cleverly. I smiled and nodded my head as John seemed baffled and frustrated all at once.

"You do live up to your reputation, Sherlock. That is all accurate. Although, I rather like to tell the rest myself." I said gently scolding him and then returned a smile to continue informing them of my parents moving me to New York, Manhattan. I spoke of Savannah lovingly because, really it was a beautiful city and I believe everyone should visit there once. I told them of my education at Cambridge, and John seemed rather impressed. They both listened rather intently, Sherlock I am sure was reading me for any lies or holes in my story. I glossed over everything with brevity, avoiding speaking of my parents for fear of the detective poking around where there was no mystery to be solved. 

"And as you both know my life was hardly as interesting up until I was kidnapped." I finished and they graced me with a chuckle. As we chatted more about the great things there were to do in London, I found myself relaxing. I'd make Sherlock Holmes fond of me yet, John it seemed already was. Friends. I had two new friends and it gave me a sense of comfort.

Across London in a darkened and elegant office, Mycroft Holmes stared into a file. He had procured every bit of information about Charlotte Ruth Montgomery MI6 had been able to gather. Report cards, a few recordings of her earliest performances on stage, and various essays on books like A Handmaid's Tale and The Unbearable Lightness of Being. What perturbed him most was the abyss of missing information on her parents. Jackson and Colleen Montgomery, aged 52 and 46. Colleen Montgomery was a Savannah socialite and the beauty queen of her era. Mr. Jackson Montgomery was a groomed politician and lawyer. They were married April 25th, and two years later Charlotte was born. Due to complications, there were no other children. After that, it was as if neither existed, outside of a few political articles found on Mr. Montgomery's policies to save poverty stricken areas of their historic city. There were no records of phone calls in the last six months to Charlotte's personal mobile, and before that only two to three phone calls annually, all brief. Neither had come in search of their daughter whilst she was missing, and there were no pictures including little Charlotte at any social events or galas. Mycroft was certain something was remiss, and he would make it his object to pull the information from his beloved himself.


	22. Chapter 22

John and Sherlock began to take their leave from my apartment, and John thanked me profusely for the meal and company. I assured him the pleasure was all mine.

“It’s nice. To have friends. Especially in a new place.” I said to them both and he nodded happily.

As John ascended the stairwell, Sherlock turned to me with that arrogant glint in his silver eyes, “You’re hiding something, and I’ll admit you have thus been a rather difficult individual to read.” He muttered, petulantly like a boy who’d lost a game or race.

“Am I? I thought you did rather well telling my story in there.” I answered sarcastically, leaning my hip against the door frame. I could tell he was about to say something else, when John called him from the foyer and he turned on his heel sharply to make his leave. I let out a puff of breath once I could no longer see the silhouette of his coat, relieved to have Sherlock’s formidable presence gone for the time. If he thought I was some complicated code to crack he certainly had another thing coming. I realized in many ways I was putting myself in the cross fires of a brotherly feud, but I was certain if Sherlock mattered to Mycroft, he should certainly matter to me. And where I come from you want to be close to your significant other’s family, should one day they become your own.

Thinking of Mycroft I ventured back to my book case and pulled out the new addition. Opening the book I walked without looking where I was going over to the couch and began reading the page he had marked with his small note. I could not contain my tears as a lump formed in my throat and I read the love poem of a great man, picked by my own great man.

 

_“My dearest, When two souls, who have sought each other for however long in the throng, have finally found each other… a union, fiery and pure as they themselves are… begins on earth and continues forever in heaven. This union is love, true love,… a religion, which deifies the loved one, whose life comes from devotion and passion, and for whom the greatest sacrifices are the sweetest delights.”_

My heart was swelling in my chest as my tears freely fell when I heard a song I hadn’t heard for years, the soulful and beautiful sounds of Des’ree’s Kissing you sounded faintly and softly from my bedroom, a soft vibrating sound accompanying the dulcet tones. I stood and slowly made my way into my room and noticed a light illuminating the darkness from my nightstand. Lying on the surface was an Iphone 7 plus in rose gold, the name Mycroft illuminating the screen. I quickly snatched it up and pressed answer, trying to clear the lump of tears from my throat.

“H-Hello?” I said.

“Why are you crying, Ruth?” he said immediately, and I was taken aback by his concern and instant ability to read me, even miles away on the other end of a phone line.

“I- I wasn’t. I was, uh reading. Just reading.” I said hastily, and realized I had lied to him to no avail. I didn’t want him to know I was emotional for fear he might not realize it was from sheer joy. I could see the questioning lift of his brow in my mind’s eye.

“Are you pleased?” he asked simply.

“Y-yes. The books. That was lovely. I should probably be wondering how you got into my apartment, but then again I’m quite sure there isn’t much you can’t do if you have a mind to. Thank you.” I said.

“I ventured to understand how very precious those are to you. A coach seat to London, yet you spent a large sum to have those shipped properly and carefully packaged. You value them.” He stated firmly.

“Yes. I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it that way. “ I answered, although he hadn’t really asked anything, “But the phone, Mycroft, you didn’t have to do that. I could’ve bought another one myself.” I said.

“Think nothing of it, I merely upgraded your current account and insured you had a device. Your number and such are all the same. I do hope you are pleased with the mobile, however if you are not you may exchange it for something more to your liking.” He stated, so matter-of-fact. His emotions were impossible to decipher over the phone, his voice so impassive.

“I don’t want to be another thing you have to take care of. Another person for you to look after. I’m pretty self-sufficient.” I said and heard his deep inhale and then exhale. Hearing him breathe merely made my heart stutter in my chest.

“I worry about you constantly. I have since you arrived on that stage. Please, think nothing of the mobile device. I merely wished to save you the grueling trip to the shop and the tedious task of worrisome sales persons.” And then he paused, “I thought perhaps you might wish to contact your mother and father, surely they are worried having not heard from you.” He stated and involuntarily a painfully sharp inhale filled my lungs. Quickly I tried to recover from my giveaway.

“Yeah I’m sure they’re out of the country right now. Better check in for sure.” And then after pausing to close my eyes and will myself and him to believe the lie I said, “So we still on for lunch tomorrow? Hyde Park at 12?” I asked.

“I shall pick you up and venture there with you. Should I prepare anything?” he asked and I giggled delightedly.

Shaking my head no, “Of course not. Leave all of the preparations to me.”

“Goodnight, my dearest.”

“Goodnight, Mycroft.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. I meant this chapter to debut much faster but I had a bit of writer's block.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_I was playing dress up, the long pre-lit mirror before me._  
_I wore Mommy’s red dress, the sexy one and high heels._  
_I’d tried to do my make up like hers, I wanted to be beautiful like her._  
_My reflection mirrored hers, I just didn’t have her bleach blonde Marilyn-esque locks._  
_“How dare you touch my things!” she yells. I panic and try to run._  
_I trip and fall, she snatches me by my hair and strips me naked._  
_She chases me naked through the house, I’m bounding for the comfort of my room._  
_She wails on me, her fist laying blows, her nails scratching my arms._

I jolt awake, sweating bullets again, and there’s a pain in my wrist lingering from the nightmares. I had been eight in the dream, and that had been the first time I’d needed a doctor’s care. In a cocaine fueled fury my mom had pulled my arm from its socket and sprained my wrist. It still tingled whenever I remembered the incident, and I rubbed it absentmindedly as I looked over at my phone. It was almost time for me to get up and start my day, so I went ahead and showered. I donned one of my favorite red sundresses from a boutique I had adored in Savannah, with a tight bust and flowy skirt just above my knees. It showed off my long lasting tan. Then I slid on a pearl necklace and simple diamond stud earrings. Pulling my hair into a curly ponytail I gathered everything I needed for my lunch date.

I prepped simple things, a chicken salad, and a sleeve of crackers, prosciutto and Gouda cheese. I packed in some fruit I had picked up, blackberries and strawberries, then a small jug of sweet tea. Every now and then I really missed the South and home, especially sweet tea. It wasn’t quite the same but it would do. My little picnic kit stored everything and had small plates, napkins, silverware and two cups inside of it. I’d bought it when I moved to Manhattan, with big plans of romantic picnics in Central Park. This was the first time I’d finally get to use it.

Everything at hand I slid my feet into my nude pointed ballet flats and a cream cardigan, rushing down the street to get to the tube. I made it just in time and sat comfortably among the other busy people moving about the city. From my purse I slipped my new phone and ear buds, deciding to listen to some of my favorite tunes. I knew I’d have to set up and Itunes account but when I opened the music application, I found it was loaded with various playlists. One was titled Broadway Sounds, Amadeus, Pick Me Ups and the last one that really drew my interest, My Darling Ruth.

I thumbed over it and found a list of incredible love songs, all of them beautiful powerful ballads of love and longing and devotion. The other thing that caught me off guard about this playlist was that some of these were country songs, and I was pretty sure someone like Mycroft had never listened to country music in his life. The Heart Won’t Lie By Reba McEntire and Vince Gill, Glass by Thompson Square, My Heart Was A Lonely Hunter (Lorraine’s Song), and Crying by Waylon Jennings. I loved all of these songs, and as I listened to Crying which I had never heard before, I was haunted by the beauty and sadness of Waylon’s voice. There was the song Terrible Things by Mayday Parade, Kissing You in full length, Elton John’s Tiny Dancer, Hall and Oats You Make My Dreams Come, Stay With Me Sam Smith. I couldn’t help myself, the tears began to fall freely and I couldn’t stop.

I tried like Hell to reign in my emotions but it was impossible. God help me, I had fallen in love with this man in a matter of days and it was overwhelming. Was something wrong with me? Normal people didn’t have these attachment issues. Was I so desperate for love and tenderness I grapsed it from the first man who offered it. These songs should have indicated that he reciprocated my love but good God what if he didn’t? How crushed would I be. And the mere thought of that sent me further over the edge. Let’s not forget I probably looked absolutely deranged riding that subway, picnic basket near my feet and pulling my hands to my face to hide my gut wrenching sobs. I knew maybe I’d actually finally snapped, that everything in my life had caught up to me and I was breaking.

In moments, I pulled myself back together and heaved a heavy sigh. Crazy as I seemed to the other travelers I felt better. Never underestimate the release of a good cathartic cry. It was like I had all of those feelings had kept building and building and when all these gestures from Mycroft surfaced and then the nightmare about my mother came forward last night I’d needed a release. I swiped my eyes furiously and sucked it all back up, a weight settling in my chest. I would be okay, I could get through this. Nothing scared me anymore, and I would do what I had always done, if and when Mycroft smattered my heart all over Hell I would mourn and move on. Perhaps to another new city but that was hardly worth planning now.

At work I tucked into the bathroom to fix my make-up, using my emergency kit I always kept in my purse. Then, I threw myself into my project, reading scripts and highlighting the text that had the most fantasy and magic in the words. I really wanted to impress the museum, and I reminded myself I needed to book some auditions as well. As I curated the works, reading the words and deciphering the messy and faded scrawling, time flew by. At exactly 11:58 I exited the museum doors and found the sun shining brilliantly and Mycroft waiting for me with the car door held ajar. I brightened upon seeing him, immediately, and picnic basket at hand I felt the glimmer of excitement at our lunch date as I ran down the steps to him.

Moments later our picnic was spread out on the red plaid blanket, and Mycroft leaned with his back against a large tree trunk. He was looking at me with a puckish grin whilst in my lap was one of his gorgeous wingtip shoes. I slid it and his perfectly matching argyle sock from his feet and then made quick work of the other. I slid my cardigan from my shoulders and my flats whilst turning my face to where the sun broke through the leaves and inhaled deeply. I was as complete ease in his presence, happy to feel the warmth of the sun too often hidden by the London fog.

When I opened my eyes again I found Mycroft busily working on his blackberry, a furrow marring his perfect brow. Huffing, I climbed over to straddle his knees and tenderly took the device with my fingertips. He looked a bit miffed at first, before his eyes scorched over my body, his fingers deftly toying with the strap of my dress. Then, I felt his other hand on my thigh, tenderly pressing into me with his deft and long fingers.

“I am enthralled with how you make this shade of red so beautiful.” And in my traditional response my breath hitched and my pulse spiked in my veins. He had this way with compliments, not telling me how beautiful the shade of red made me, but how pretty I made the red. It was those little statements that made me realize he not only meant them but that he truly thought I was beautiful. Finally, I pulled myself off of his lap and with my finger pressed to his lips said, “Flattery will not derail me from my mission today Mr. Holmes. I have prepared a very nice lunch for us.” I said grinning. He returned the smile and then leaned forward to attempt to peek over my shoulder inside my picnic basket.

“Oh no you don’t! I am determined to give you a culture shock. I’m going to cover your eyes and you will try what I made. And tell me what you think.” I said as he slid his back against the trunk of the tree again.

“And how do you intend to block my vision, my darling?” he asked slyly. Damn. I hadn’t thought of that, and as I looked around furtively my eyes found his bright cyan tie. Grinning shyly I brought my knees to press against the outside of his thighs again and deftly my fingers began to undo his Windsor knot. Somehow, staring into those intense midnight eyes and undressing him so insignificantly this was the most erotic moment of my life thus far. I felt myself trembling from the inside, felt my breathing quickening as I slid the satin from his shirt collar. His brow quirked as I eased the material around his head and over his eyes, because he knew exactly what he was doing to me, this man had made himself so powerful as a product of his ability to read and decipher every person he’d ever encountered. And read me he did, constantly.

As it would turn out, Mycroft seemed to really enjoy my buffalo chicken salad, humming his approval when I fed it to him on a cracker, careful to not allow a single drop to topple to his pristine slacks or shirt. Giggling, I then brought the straw for the cup of sweet tea to his lips. His mouth made a cringing expression and I lifted the blindfold from his eyes, trying to appear devastated.

“That is a ghastly beverage. Are you attempting to put me in a diabetic coma?” he asked. I couldn’t play miffed for very long, he just made me too happy. Laughing I hugged my middle and then sipped the sweet tea. True, it wasn’t as good as the kind served from the vendors on River Street, but very faintly I could taste home.

“I’ll have you know, Mycroft, this is the house wine where I’m from.” And in an instant I could tell my accent had come out very heavy, using those southernisms always did. He seemed to smile brighter after I spoke, a blush decorating my cheeks at having spoken so lazily in front of such a highly intelligent man.

“I do so delight in the sound of your laughter, my darling. You are truly a rarity to behold.” And leaning forward he pulled my back against his chest, his lips against my hair and fingers smoothing down my shoulder.

“I could spend my days counting the freckles dotting your shoulders, memorizing the numerous expressions and curves of your lips. Imagine how foolish I sound to my own ears. Are you trying to turn me into some sort of a romantic ?” He asked. I honestly did not know what to say, but he was further driving home the point that he had never actually been in love. Not really and truly. Or perhaps he had, but had never had someone so in love with him. And I was touched by the notion that I was his first, at least in some respect. As he was mine, because although I’d fancied myself a romantic and had pined for love like in the movies, I’d actually never experienced it either.

We spent the rest of my lunch hour snacking on the berries I’d brought and simply talking. I told Mycroft about Savannah, a place he himself had never visited. Although it had been a sad time in my life, with a horrid home life, I had found so much comfort in the rich history, the beautiful architecture, the shops and cemeteries. It was the placed I’d always call home. In summer and breaks from school and college, I would go back there and work as a waitress on River Street, venturing to Tybee with my friends every chance I got. I loved it. Coronas with limes on the beach, and the pier where you could get frozen daiquiris made just a little too strong.

In the backseat of the jaguar, we kissed and made out like two teenagers on prom night. I relished in the heat of his body through his three piece suit, the way his hands cradled me close and his lips caressed mine, our tongues dancing. I re arranged his tie for him, and smoothed my dress just in time to return to the museum, making my way up the steps and smiling back at my magnificent friend. To be honest, I was getting well beyond sexually frustrated, and Saturday night I would make sure we took our relationship to the next level. Tomorrow I would shop for a dress to knock Mycroft Holmes to his knees. I blew him a flirtatious kiss as I turned and made my way inside, trying like hell to focus on my work for the remainder of that day.


	24. Chapter 24

Saturday morning I sent a text to Kendrick, deciding I was ready to face him. I did not hate him for what he had done; I knew it wasn’t his fault at all. I had merely needed time to rationalize that in my head. He let me know he was at St. Bartholomew’s for therapy with an onsite psychologist and that he would love to see me, but only if I brought him Starbucks. I found myself smiling feeling like a small piece of him must have still remained. Eagerly, I grabbed both of our coffees and began the trek a few blocks down to the hospital.

When I found its large facility looming over me, my nerves bloomed. My best friend had been a terrible pawn in a plan that resulted in the death of my other best friend, and nearly resulted in my own death. I forgave him, of course, but could Ken forgive himself? I know if it was me I couldn’t. I was relieved he was seeing a therapist, knowing the trauma could send him back down the road of heroin and vodka. Sometimes knowing someone’s past makes you wary of the choices they might make in the future. Still, I shook my hair, plastered a smile on my face, and entered the psychiatric ward of the hospital to seek out my best friend.

Sitting in a chair of the waiting area, next to a blonde, blue eyed guy was my handsome friend. I could tell he’d lost some weight, making him appear like the young lanky boy I’d met at Cambridge. His deep caramel eyes met mine and in a rush of curly black waves he was in my arms, minding the coffees I bore in each hand. It felt good to feel his warmth, to feel his heartbeat against my chest. It meant so much to me he was alive and feeling him breathe set my world back right. Of course, I’d known he’d made it out alive, but feeling it was something completely different. We stood there a long moment, before I eased him from my arms to set our drinks on a nearby surface. Then, without hesitation I peeked on my tip toes and locked my arms around his neck, just holding him.

Our emotional moment ended, and we took seats beside his new friend, I took a sip of my coffee to let him speak first.

“This is Quincey. He’s been through some traumatic stuff too. He’s helped me stay clean through this whole process.” He said lovingly and touching the blonde boys hand.

“I’m so glad to hear it. I should have been by sooner, but I just needed some time. Some normalcy so I didn’t have a mental break myself.” I said, still touching his other hand.

“I understand, Charlie. This kind of stuff is hard on us, after everything we’ve been through.” He said, and I found myself wondering when my Kendrick became so insightful.

“So what’s new Dorothy? How has Oz been treating you?” he asked and I felt like all the tension left my body and I was able to relax.

“Well, I think I’m dating the Wizard of Oz. He’s very intelligent, and serious, and everyone calls him the Iceman.” I answered and he rubbed his hands together excitedly, eager to hear the details. I told him and Quincey everything, since no one else was within earshot. I told him about my rescue and how Mycroft had put me in his bed. How he’d tenderly handled me and about the books, then the phone. I grazed over the playlist, wanting to keep that to myself a bit. I treasured those songs he chose for me. I voiced my fears to him about dating him, about how intense my feelings were and how I knew I was getting too attached too fast. Not to mention, I was never a girl that could have meaningless sex from a boy I picked up at a party or bar. I was a relationship kind of girl, and as hot and bothered as Mycroft made me, as bad as I wanted him to give it to me until I couldn’t form coherent thoughts, I knew it would drive my attachment further home.

“Baby girl, you have always over thought these things. Isn’t it obvious how he feels about you by now? Besides, I remember how he looked at you when he found us. The way he commanded those secret agents to turn away. He thought I was unconscious, but I saw the way he looked at you. Like it was literally killing him. Like he was the one stabbed and sick on that table. It was mind-blowing.” Ken said, hands flying and Quincey nodding at his side, as if they were both in on some little secret I was blind to. Still, this information was new to me, I hadn’t thought about how he might have felt, I was too worried that a man I barely knew had seen me stark naked on a table.

“So are you going to? Tonight?” Kendrick asked the mischievous look in his eyes. Blushing, I nodded my head yes.

“I have every intention of buying myself an absolutely drop dead gorgeous dress to make that wound tight reserved three piece suit lose his damn mind with desire.” I added confidently, a smirk caressing my lips. From there, Kendrick and Quincey gave me tips on my hair and what color and style gown I would need for the evening.

“Go get him, my steel magnolia!” Kendrick exclaimed as I made my way down the hall. I turned to wave laughing. I wanted to appear elegant tonight, not easy, and sexy in a demure and classy way. As I left Ken and Quincey to their group therapy session for the day I was so excited to go shopping I could barely contain my glee as I hailed a cab, not wanting to brave the tube with my soon to be purchased parcels. I was in desperate need of retail therapy, and with my only for emergencies credit card, I entered a store I’d never been in, the prestigious one and only Chanel.

Several thousand dollars later I soaked into my tub filled with deliciously hot water and a sex bomb bath bomb from Lush cosmetics. I had a good few hours to get ready so I figured a good soak would do me good. I shaved everything from my armpits down and donned lacey black boy shorts and a silk bath robe. I painted my nails a pale pink champagne color with just a touch of sparkle. Once those were good and dry and smudge proof, I moved to my thick auburn hair. In the south, for every and all formal events like Cotillions and proms, the more curls you have, the better. With my wand I set my hair into gorgeous ribbon perfect curls and sprayed them until I was sure they’d stay. My face was smoothed over with light foundation, and I used peach blush and highlighter. My eyes were smoky with perfectly winged eye liner. I decided on soft pale pink lipstick so as not to overdo it.

Seeing his car arrive with his very precious cargo, Mycroft made his way to the double French doors of his country house and pulled them open. The door opened and a black high heeled foot emerged, bringing Ms. Charlotte Montgomery into the golden light of sunset. His mouth went try and he was instantly winded by the sharp intelligence of her green eyes, the long curls glimmering like they were on fire. She was covered in a gorgeous black gown of silk, the high neck hugging her throat and covering her breasts in lace. She graced him with a sweet, coy smile and turned to pull her clutch from the back of the car, exposing her naked back, strands of pearls in different lengths hanging from the shoulders where the dress stopped. He instantly felt his heartbeat quicken and his pants become uncomfortably tight in the front.

“Good evening, sir.” I said politely, Mycroft’s face giving nothing away as he took me in. Perhaps I didn’t look as spectacular as I felt. Or maybe he was so used to pretty women strutting around in designer outfits around him, it didn’t faze him. Either way, I kissed his cheek and gingerly he closed the French doors behind me. Touching his hand to his bow tie, knotted perfectly at his neck and then moving to his chest he finally spoke.

“My Ruth, darling. I’m afraid I am incapable of finding the words to describe your beauty in this exact moment. You are ethereal.” He said, calmly but with weight in his rich blue depths that I nearly stopped breathing and fell head over heels at his feet. Oh this was going to be a very interesting evening.


	25. Chapter 25

Mycroft escorts me through the house to a sun room and french doors leading to the back garden. There were large tents set up with glittering chandeliers, twinkling fairy lights in the trees and the smell of roses floated in the air. A classical band was playing and all around were aristocratic men and women, some in traditional dress of their culture, others wearing tuxedos and formal gowns. As he directed me to a nearby tent with candle lit tables and tall glittering silver vases filled with babies breath, I noticed he kept his hand respectfully between my shoulder blades, never venturing lower where most of me was exposed, right above my bum. Still, his touch was making me warm all over, causing a flush to bloom over my cheeks, neck and surely my breasts. Thank heavens my dress has a high neck. I felt his touch all the way to my knees and it made my heart dance in my chest.

"What can I get you for a beverage, darling?" he asked, finally pulling me to the here and now.

"A mint julep?" I asked, ordering my go to drink. He gestured for the bartender and immediately I had my drink in hand, the Woodford Reserve complimenting the fresh mint. It calmed my nerves a bit, and I smiled lovingly at Mycroft. The soft summer breeze was blowing delicately, causing a curl to drift over my face, and tenderly he moved it behind my ear, thumbing my lobe as he did so. I inhaled sharply, his touch magnetic and powerful, just like the man himself. I hated the way he turned my brain to absolute soup, I was an imbecile in his presence, a goldfish. I took another generous sip of my drink and gathered my wits, I wanted to be poignant and sophisticated, just as I had been raised to be at every dinner party and cotillion. I had to remind myself that while many royals and ambassadors surrounded me, I was in some ways, Southern Royalty. Convince yourself of something, and its much easier to live it. 

Finally, Mycroft tucked my hand in the crook of his arm in his dark black tuxedo and holding it there he said, "Shall we perform our duties as host and hostess?" and smiling brightly I nodded. 

I met so many people it was hard to remember who was who. There were Russian government leaders, a polish prince and his wife, the duchess of a significant English family. I met the ambassador of Nairobi and his wife, and many important people from South Africa trying to lift their villages from poverty and war. The LRA was still kidnapping many children and using them as soldiers, stealing them from their villages during the night and having the largest one of the group kill the smallest to assert power. Mycroft notified me of all of this in between conversation when we were nearing another group of people and what everyone was planning to do to contribute to the problem solving. I was relieved at his efforts to keep me in the loop, he actually cared enough about me to let me contribute to the conversation and yet, insured I did not make a fool of myself.

I felt at ease until the attention was turned to me by the Nigerian Ambassador, a kind older man, with soft eyes and a sweet smile. He struck me as the generous and loving type, but I also sensed he was a fierce warrior, and too often his kindness was mistaken for weakness. 

"Well I've just recently taken up residence in a flat in the heart of London. I'm originally from Savannah, Georgia." I said, trying to sound as sophisticated as possible whilst answering his question about if I was just visiting the UK or planning to stay.

"And what brings you so far from home?" he asked me.

"I am pursuing a career in Literature and Fine Arts." I said, avoiding the statement of Broadway actress. Then, my beloved date cleared his throat.

"Ms. Montgomery is a rather talented performer and singer. She and her graduating class performed Jekyll and Hyde at the Grand Royal Drury Lane Theatre. I was rather taken with her performance." he said turning to gaze at me with pride and adoration and everyone gasped, the ambassador smiling broadly. 

"Oh I would love to hear something! Can you play as well? Will you sing us a song? I have always been fascinated with the American Theatre." he stated excitedly and I blushed further. I began to gesture with my hand and say, "I really shouldn't. I'm no Idina Menzel. I'm still an amateur and such." but Mycroft was already leading me over to the grand piano in the tent. Before he let go of my hand he curled his hand around my jaw.

"Why are you speaking like that?" and his brow furrowed with concern, and I think disappointment. 

"I don't know. I thought maybe I sounded more posh and maybe you didn't want everyone thinking you were dating some country bumpkin." I mumbled nervously.

"My darling, woman. Haven't you the faintest of why I adore you? You are a refresher from those boring posh girls from my past. You are more. To be quite honest I rather indulge in the sound of your sweet accent, and it does not dull your intellect in the faintest. I love you, for the exact woman you are. I would not want you to be anyone but your true and spell binding self. No matter the present company." I was reeling at his confession. I felt the entire floor fall away from my feet, my stomach dropped and my head felt fuzzy. He loved me? Oh my god he loves me.

"Mr. Holmes, she is quite lovely but I believe she is trying to grace us with a song," the ambassador interrupted jovially. Pressing a kiss to my temple he held his hands up in surrender and made a proficient apology. I thought about the cause of the charity gala, and all of the information about the people and villages the money was being funded towards, and it gave me an idea for a song, Placing my fingers over the keys, I leaned up to the microphone and softly began the tune I had chosen.

_"I don't know if you can hear me, or if you're even there._  
_I don't know if you would listen, to Gypsy's prayer._  
_Yes I know I'm just an outcast. I shouldn't speak to you._  
_Still I see your face and wonder, were you once an outcast too..?"_

When I finished, I was astonished to find not a dry eye in the place, and it seemed the tent had quite filled up since I first began my singing. I suddenly felt shy as I stood to a resounding applause and eagerly returned to Mycroft's side. He was smiling brilliantly, the twinkle of admiration in his eyes. In his hand was a fresh mint julep and the party seemed to begin again, the band playing an upbeat Sinatra number. I finished my drink quickly, suddenly thirsty and finding it hard to think about anything but how this evening might end. As soon as I set my glass aside, I found myself in the graceful arms of my love, his feet beginning a rhythm to which it took me mere seconds to match. This time, his hand was slightly lower on my back, not quite at the small of it but he was obviously slipping his hold on that perfect, formal behavior of his.


	26. Chapter 26

The evening wore on, and I watched as Mycroft spoke with the dignitaries, so eloquent with such confidence and grace. He was so powerful, shaping the world to his will as if it was clay and he were a potter. It beguiled me in every sense of the word, and on more than one occasion I had to stop myself from staring. As he became deep in conversation with a Russian dignitary boasting of top ammunition for biological war fare, I made myself over to the bar and ordered another mint julep, my i-don't-know'what-number of the evening. Carefully, I slipped out of the tent and made my way across the back garden. The property was stunning and the stars were shimmering in a way I hadn't seen since my beach nights on Tybee Island. The sky was inky midnight blue and the stars were so brilliant it looked like someone spilled a jar of glitter across the sky.

Just beyond the wrought iron fence I found stables and made my way inside. The stalls were filled with gorgeous stallions, all pure-bred I was sure. They all seemed rather content, well fed, and groomed so perfectly I could nearly see my reflection in their hair. In one stall was a gorgeous Clydesdale that towered way over me, and eagerly he pressed his face to my neck, sniffing me vehemently. I giggled and began patting his neck, touching his cheek and kissing his soft nose. 

"I see you've charmed yet another acquaintance of mine." his voice said, and I turned to see him standing there, comfortable in his long lean form, the jacket of his tuxedo unbuttoned and his hand in his pocket. 

"He's beautiful. Do you ride?" I asked, still stroking the mane of the gorgeous creature. 

"As often as I am able. Do you?" he asked me, quirking that brow curiously and almost in challenge I think.

"Every well-bred southern belle is highly skilled in the area of horse back riding." I answered sassily, accentuating my southern drawl.

Smiling he said, "His name is Haemon. I am rather fond of him. He's more of a friend actually." he answered. I'd never heard Mycroft actually use the word friend, and it took me aback. Then, I thought about what he had said, "Haemon? From Antigone?" I asked.

"Yes. He is a rather faithful creature, much like Haemon to his Antigone. A beast of such devotion deserves a name as of such." he said. Without warning, I leaned in and grabbed the lapels of his jacket, coaxing his lips open to mine and darting my tongue inside. I poured everything he'd made me feel over the last few weeks into that kiss, running my hand up his jaw, across his cheek and grasped the back of his gorgeous ginger hair. He placed his hands across the naked skin on my back and pressed me into one of the barn doors, his knee pressing my legs apart and heat radiating off of he and I in waves. I groaned into his mouth, once again passion and wanton lust pulsing through every part of me at the mere proximity of him. His touch was merely gasoline to the fire I already burned with for him.

Pulling away, he took my palm against his and led me along the side of the house and into the sun room door. "What about the party?" I asked giggling, although really I could care less. I only knew this was his work, his party.

"Their chauffeurs are bringing their cars round. The wait staff is clearing the rest." he mumbled against my neck, nipping and sucking as he touched my arms and back again. Once inside the house I lost sight of my surroundings, and down the main hallway we traveled like a wrecking ball, all searching hands and fervent panting kisses. At the base of the stairs he lifted my dress high on my thighs and lifted my heeled feet from the ground, carrying me up with steadiness and certainty. I began kissing his neck and allowed one hand to venture down to where his trousers had risen substantially. As I caressed him through the fine material I heard him groan and felt his control slipping. I had never been more turned on in my life, and I knew I was absolutely soaked in my panties for him. 

In the darkened hallway, just before the door to his bedroom he stopped and lifted my hands above my head against the wall, his eyes penetrating into mine with the most serious stare I'd ever seen. His pupils were so large they nearly swallowed that heavenly dark blue and his nostrils flared ever so slightly with his labored breath. His erection pressed against my hip as he felt under the layers of fabric and pushed my panties aside. In mere seconds his finger pressed through my walls and moved in a come here motion, and in that exact moment he found that sweet spot inside of me no boy I'd ever fooled around with had ever been able to find before. I let out a soft moan/grunt as I pulsed around his finger.

"My darling Charlotte, when we cross that threshold into my bedchamber, there will be no turning back. Please, your body tells me you are beyond ready, but I need to know for certain. Are you?". I was mesmerized by the look in his eyes, that wicked smirk and his aristocratic face. Not to mention, I was starting to feel like I had to pee, but not in a bad way and my mind was completely mushy, soupy, hell it was about to drain out of my nose I was sure. I was hot, so hot I thought I'd claw out of my dress and my heartbeat was in my ears. I had him exactly where I wanted him and from the little bit I understood of psychology his enlarged pupils meant he wanted me just as badly. The cherry on top was that he had verbally declared his love for me.

Apparently I was taking too long to respond because his finger curled again and his thumb found my clit. Unable to actually form words I nodded my head and panted harder, leaning up to bite his lip and drag him down to me. 

In one swift motion he had the bedroom door open, deposited me back on my feet and closed it again. His bedroom was different this time, a million tiny candles were lit on every surface like a catholic church and soft, heavenly music played in the background. Candle burn smelling of sandalwood and vanilla filled the air and the windows let in the late summer breeze, cooling my overly heated skin. I turned and Mycroft toed his expensive shoes off and slid off his socks and garters, laying them neatly on the occasional chair. Delicately his jacket and vest were removed, then suspenders and cuff links, leaving him clad in only his undershirt and boxer-briefs. I had thoroughly found myself watching his little floor show. 

"I believe you are over-dressed for this event, darling." and carefully he untied the bow at my neck and his fingers found the zipper just below the small of my back. In a waterfall of pearls and black satin, the dress hit the floor and I stepped out wearing only black lace briefs and heels. My breasts felt heavy and sensitive to the night air, my nipples puckering and suddenly I flushed that Mycroft was again seeing me naked. I sat on the bed and before I could reach for the bow holding on my heel he was on me, his deft fingers undoing them for me. Suddenly he traveled his hand up my thigh and spread them, his tongue licking me through the fine lace of my boy shorts. I shouted in shock and pulsing desire as he continued to undo the other shoe, his nose assaulting me in my sensitive swollen lips. 

Then, he stood and leaned over me, my back against the soft comforter his erection pulsing through the thin layer of his underwear, the only thing separating us from the most intimate human contact. Mycroft began at my ear, blowing warm breath into it and then licking his way down my neck and sternum, then coming back up to kiss my breasts. Then he danced his tongue across my nipple in quick flicks, causing me to cry out again, before he moved to the other nipple. 

"Such beautiful pink nipples, like rose petals." he muttered, "Oh my Ruth I am going to be ruthless tonight. I will make you come harder than any of those school boys of which had no idea how to worship a woman like you, rutting on you like dogs." he said, gazing directly into my eyes. He even sounded a tad jealous. I was breathless with anticipation, and slowly my entire body began to quiver, a tremble exploding from me from sheer desire and sexual need. When had anyone ever touched me so much, aroused me so extremely? I sat up on my knees and pulled his undershirt off of his head and then pulled him down with me by the waist band of his boxers. His deft fingers slid my panties down as his tongue dipped between my flesh and circled my clit, and then ever so delicately he blew on that sensitive spot. I let out a whine of desperation and pleasure, feeling empty, as he slid his boxers down and lay next to me, each of us completely naked, our eyes exploring one another's bodies hungrily.

"I have dreamt of this since first I saw you on stage. You are a divinity and a goddess to behold. I want this to be perfection." he whispered and carefully he eased up on his knees, and pulled me flush against him, my breasts against his naked chest. I was dizzy with the intoxicating smell of his cologne and I was desperately trying not to grind against him just to get some friction. I hadn't even realized I was mewling with heat and need, and with a kiss he silenced my heated sounds. Carefully, he parted my thighs with his skilled hands and eased me onto his substantial length, his thickness filling me more than any previous lover had. I slid down him easily until he had filled me to his hilt. I was still trembling as he gazed longingly into my eyes, his hand pinning my hair past my cheek and against my neck. 

Groaning he began to move against me, and God could he move. He tilted inward perfectly, pressing that inner g spot and causing me to shake and moan like a sex goddess.

'Feel it baby." he whispered, kissing me deeply and causing me to scrunch my eyes shut, trying to absorb the pleasure and trying not to pee. And in an instant he stopped, still deep inside of me.

"I was merely assuming but you have not had a vaginal orgasm? You deserve to be worshiped and yet school boys merely fumbled around your panties like imbeciles. Do you feel the need to urinate?" he asked and furiously I blushed, wishing we could avoid this rather awkward conversation, but I was a little too tipsy to entirely care so I nodded. He smiled brightly and finally whispered against my lips, "Oh this going to be fun. And I get to bare witness." and then he was moving inside of me again, forcing my back to the bed and leaning over me, my head in his hands. As his breath fanned against my face, I inhaled and when I exhaled he inhaled, and in that glorious moment I felt so at one with him I could have cried. Holding my hands he rose up and on his knees released my fingers and held my hips to drive me onto him, pushing himself upward as I pressed down against him, my bum elevated off of the bed. I was clawing at the sheets, feeling things I'd never felt before and unable to control my need to have him deeper and harder. 

He picked up his pace as he dove back over me, covering me as my nails slid down his back, and I heard him say, "Oh fuck!" and that word was my undoing. That foul word out of that perfectly sophisticated mouth sent me into a tail spin. I let go of all of that fear and anxiety of making love with him and I spilled all over his enormous length, detonating and vibrating around him as I came and came in a never ending mind-blowing orgasm. I could feel myself pulling him deeper, squeezing his gorgeous member as I rode out my climax and wishing it would never end. Then he lifted off of me and turned me to face the headboard on my knees. I felt his thighs spread around me as he entered me from behind, deeper than he'd been before and slapping into me with the intensity of a man on a life or death mission, and I was the life line. He grasped me to his chest, one arm locked beneath my breasts, the other hand splayed across my clit. I honestly don't know how he did it, but as I felt him harden and widen inside of me he sent me into another tailspin, squeezing his dick harder and screaming out another orgasm. "Oh fuck! Oh goddamn!" I heard him cry as suddenly he released inside of me, jerking and penetrating me, nibbling my shoulder as he did, as if he hadn't come so hard in so very long. 

Misty with sweat I eased onto my front on the bed as he exited my body, and he lay on his back, the candlelight dancing across his perfect skin. I was heaving breaths trying to come down from the high and the stars I was still seeing behind my lids. That was by far the most mind blowing thing that had ever happened to me, and probably that ever would. Delicately, I felt his fingers tracing my spine and shoulders. My eyes met his and once again they were filled with delight and contentment, and something so much deeper and beautiful. 

"I meant what I said earlier this evening, my darling lady. I love you." he whispered, a touch of awe in his voice, as if he could not fathom how very true those words were and the fact that he was uttering them out loud.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My readers have been so loving and giving with positive feedback I thought you deserved some more smut! So here it is!

I’d learned the hard way; don’t tell someone you love them after sex. It’s some unwritten rule for us romantics with attachment issues. And it’s the quickest way to send a boy running for the hills and pretending for the next weeks he’s never seen you or heard your name before. Yet, Mycroft had just said it to me, for the second time this evening and post coital too. I loved him so much there I was wishing there was a less cliché word than love. He had consumed me with a burning fire, a fire that grew with each passing day of looking in those serious blue depths and the pearl white of his smile. That orgasm he had just rocked me with hadn’t hurt his case at all, either.

Delicately I reached for his side burn and fingered his cheek delicately, memorizing the perfect form of his body, his skin and whispered directly into his eyes, “I’m in love with you.”, and despite my best efforts I felt the tears pooling. His fingers stopped their tracing of my spine and locked about my waist, pulling me against his warm skin. He pressed his face into the crook of my neck and then I felt a long sigh of relief leave his chest, as if my confession were balm to a bruise or burn he’d been carrying for some time now. His arms curled about me tighter, his leg lay over mine and entwined I felt myself drifting off, feeling the steady thrum of his heart against my skin.

Dawn broke through the windows sending lights of pink, orange and yellow across his too often dark and cold room. He watched her nose twitch in her sleep, marveled at the curl of her hands against her mouth. Mycroft had memorized every freckle and beauty mark on her soft satin like skin that night. This woman, this creature loved him. But, of course he had already known. He had seen her desire on stage the evening they were introduced, when Sherlock was berating her for missing rehearsal. Her dark lashes fanned her upper cheeks and she was so calm, so still. It was beautiful to behold, for he had seen her smile and laugh, seen her brain working and the expression she wore when deep in thought. But, still, so at peace she was angelic. With easy grace, he reached for his mobile from the bedside table, and snapped a photo of her, auburn curls a mess over her shoulder and cheek, mouth peeking just behind her tiny delicate hands, beautiful. He made it his background, and thought of the sentiment. Only for her.

I awoke from a deep slumber, one so deep I hadn’t moved from the position I landed in. Mycroft was curled against me in a nearly childlike way, but his eyes were wide open, gazing at me with such adoration. I smiled at him immediately upon waking, so happy to be with him, in his arms. Or well, to be holding him in mine. I had craved touch for so long, to be held and cherished, I was like someone dying of thirst, and Mycroft had been an overflowing fountain of it. It healed a deep need inside of me, a need I wouldn’t have had my childhood not been so broken, shattered. I knew there was a chance at some point I might become too clingy, but for now, this was perfection.

He nuzzled his nose between my breasts and I felt him smile and say, “I must say I am rather fond of this particular pair of your anatomy. For so tiny a woman your bust is ample and delicious.” He muttered and I felt myself giggling as he pulled me further onto my back and began kissing my neck and kneading his fingers over my right breast. I quickly gasped, and felt his knee spread my thighs. Finally, his lips were against mine and I wrapped my legs about his waist as he deepened it, the dance of his tongue and the way he breathed against me nearly knocking me out with the intense desire and wanton lust I’d felt since first I kissed him. I was wet and felt his hard length on my pelvis, and when I thought he was just about to enter me he pulled away and began kissing down my belly. It fluttered under his heated breath as he worked lower, over my pubic bone. Palms flat against my thighs he spread them wide and then ran one long index finger over my lips.

“This is one of my favorite parts of your anatomy. Such a sweet, beautiful, tight pussy.” He whispered and just hearing him talk dirty elicited a whimper from me as I felt the moisture flow between my lips. God, this man was quite possibly going to sex me into oblivion and to be honest, I didn’t care. He was so intimate, informal and absolutely naughty in the bedroom. Then, I felt him plant a soft kiss to my lips starting with barely any pressure at all and causing me to tremble again with arousal. He licked my thighs on either side and kissed just above my lips, and all around the outside, avoiding my crevice and anywhere but my swollen bud that was aching for pressure.

“Please, please Mycroft.” I whined and he gave me a devilish grin.

“Oh my pet, I am merely building your arousal. You see, I am rather craving something sweet for breakfast. The more wet I make you, the more there is for me to lick up and have my fill.” He said and those words nearly made me cum right then. He continued to tease me, causing me to moan and whimper.

“I think we can do better than that. I do love hearing you crying out in ecstasy.” He said before diving down and assaulting me with his tongue, licking over my swollen clit and causing my orgasm to tear from me instantly, a scream tearing from my throat in pure orgasmic joy. Still, I didn’t like the empty feeling, my body was craving fulfillment, a fulfillment only he could give. I was still seeing stars when I looked down and found his eyes watching me, marveling at my face. He ran his finger through me, gathering my moisture and then popped it in his mouth, groaning as if he had just tasted his favorite cake or frosting. I’d never get out of bed with him if he kept this up. It’s true, once you have one really good orgasm, you want as many and to have them as often as possible.

He was over me, braced on his arms and I locked my legs around his waist, but he stopped with his head at my entrance and said, “Say it. Please tell me again.” And the desperation and plea in his voice gave me pause.

“I’m in love with you.” And with that he scrunched his eyes shut and dove into me hard and deep, sliding my head into the headboard and making me cry out at the fullness and satisfaction. He ran his oddly shaped nose against mine and I grabbed the base of his neck kissing him again. That didn’t last long and I was disappointed as he pulled away.

“Oh I like to see you. See myself entering your perfect body and watching as you give yourself over to the immense pleasure you deserve.” He said, as keen on reading me as ever before his eyes locked on his generous and perfect dick entering me. It was hot. He rode me furtively, diving into me fluidly and slickly, and I began to tighten and pulse around him. His hands cradled my head to keep me from hitting the headboard, even though I hardly minded. I let myself completely go, moaning and shouting, clawing at the tiny red hairs on his chest and feeling everything I had been trying to avoid for fear of heartache. I could tell he was getting there, my moans expediting things and with his forehead pressed to mine, he grew inside of me and dumped his fluids in hot spurts into me as I cried out wringing him and squeezing him as if he were the elixir of life.

Mycroft lay over me, winded and both of us trying to catch our breaths. He pressed his cheek to my chest and stilled, our breathing the only sounds remaining in his expansive bedroom.

“I could listen to this for ages.” He whispered, and I knew he meant my heartbeat, and I was touched. He was so romantic. I had never felt so precious. Neither of us spoke for a long moment, we merely lay there skin to skin in simple contentment. I knew I would have left the world to stay there forever, but after a while my stomach erupted in a grumble .

“I am quite famished from last night’s exertions myself? Shall we seek out a spot of breakfast?” he asked, standing to don a bathrobe and house slippers. Excitedly I stood from the bed with the sheet around me and waited to see what exactly I was meant to wear to our breakfast rendezvous.


	28. Chapter 28

Breakfast was delicious, fluffy Belgium waffles with fresh berries, hot bacon and orange juice. Mycroft and I ate on the veranda, the sun bright and luminous, our table shaded in the alcove of his beautiful home. The gardens of roses, red, white, pink and coral shimmered in the light, the fountain splashing as a delicate soundtrack. Mycroft ate an omelet of eggwhites and vegetables, but I didn't mind gorging myself in front of him. I was not the kind of girl to be shy about food, and seeing as how he'd seen every part of me I had nothing to hide. It wasn't like I was pigging out or chewing with my mouth open anyway. He had been unusually quiet for the duration of our meal, and that was giving me plenty of time to recount the recent events. 

"We didn't use a condom." I blurted out. He didn't even take his eyes from his blackberry from which he was busily typing, work I presumed.

"You are on birth control, my dear." and it was a statement, not a question.

"You knew. How did you know?" I asked, swallowing my bacon and gaping at him. He heaved a rather frustrated sigh, before setting his phone down and giving me his know-it-all smirk.

"I acquired your medical records. You are on an oral contraceptive, with which you have been incredibly diligent over the years. You are of above average intelligence and if you ever experienced coitus with another young male you used additional protection through prophylactics. I am clean as I take special care with my intimate partners. As it were, I have been your first penetration with out additional precautions." and as he stated that last bit he had a proud grin. His snooping knew absolutely no bounds. As irritated as I might have been at my own carelessness, I really relished the idea that he was the first man to cum inside of me. And that feeling, that skin to skin contact was really ground breaking. It took love making to an entirely new level of intimacy and trust. 

"Minor position in the government my ass." I muttered petulantly, to which he merely lifted a brow condescendingly. I merely rolled my eyes and finished my breakfast.

Hours later, I was showered and dressed in a turquoise romper, barefoot and stretched out with Mycroft lying behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist. He wore khaki chinos and a white linen button down, his feet were bare and I was reading to him from one of my favorite books. He told me how delightful he thought the sound of my voice was, and that hearing me read brought him great peace and ease. 

"And were an epitaph to be my story, I would have a short one ready for my own. I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover's quarrel with the world." I read, but I knew he wasn't really listening. The furrow he tried so hard to keep from his brow was growing deeper and his eyes were far away as he gazed at the brightly colored flowers in the distance. Finally, I set the book aside and turned on my knees to look at him. I gathered his attention quickly, and he gazed at me curiously. I first began kissing him and then pulled away knowing he would want more and I would never get the answers I required.

"Where are you right now, Mr. Holmes?" I asked.

Scoffing he said, "I rather think I am on the veranda of my country home, with a charming southern belle in my lap." he answered.

I rolled my eyes and my hands slapped my thighs in frustration, "That's not what I meant and you know it." I said sternly. 

"I do not wish to burden you, my lady." he stated, but I quickly interrupted him, "I want you to burden me. That's what a relationship is. It's what it means to matter to someone. I know you have a lot on you. I know your work is demanding, ruling the world and all. I just want you to know you can talk to me. About anything. I may not understand what you do or what you're talking about all the time, but I will always listen." I said, and his eyes widened. Carefully, he touched my shoulders and turned me so my back lay against his chest, has hands cupping mine from around my waist. I had rather thought that would be the end of the conversation, that perhaps he may not be ready to be so close as to discussing one another's burdens, but before I could change the subject he began speaking. 

He was worried about Sherlock, because his younger brother was working on a case that he had been explicitly informed not to. By Mycroft himself. He was worried of course, as he would always be. I knew that Sherlock thought of his elder brother as his arch nemesis, but from where I was sitting he seemed more like his guardian angel. I felt such sadness for him, having babysat his younger brother from a very young age during extreme drug binges in doss houses. While Mycroft handled his sharp intellect rather well, it overwhelmed Sherlock at times, causing him to overuse. I couldn't help thinking about how I had wished I'd had an older brother as a child, someone who might step in when my mother or father beat me. Then again, I knew I'd never want someone to suffer through what I had. 

"He's very lucky. To have you. I know one day I will make sure to have children, not just one child." I said when he finished speaking. He tilted me by my shoulders to look down at me with his piercing eyes.

"You desire children?" he asked curiously as if this were some strange new bit of information he had not yet gathered.

Looking at the insides of his palms in my hands, "Sometimes I think I do. I imagine when you love someone, the way your supposed to, the real thing, deep and binding and true, you want to have their children. It's the greatest proof, the mark of abiding adoration. How great a thing it is, that with love we can create another life." I said, never moving my eyes from his. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my temple, and I think, he was rather moved by my statement.


	29. Chapter 29

Monday morning I was dressing for work when my doorbell rang, and like an idiot I thought it might be Mycroft. He had dropped me back to my apartment late Sunday evening, but as soon as he let go of me to get into his car I felt like someone was ripping a vital organ out of me. I was pathetic, I knew. I even had a little cry when I got upstairs, missing him and overwhelmed with my love for him. He had healed so many of the gashes inside of me and he didn’t even know it, he had closed wounds and given me something I’d never known. It was very hard to part from, but I also knew he was worried for his brother, that he loved Sherlock deeply and would never forgive himself should anything happen to him. He’d opened up to me about the Lazarus project, about Sherlock faking his death and although Mycroft had been in on it, just seeing the tombstone and reading his baby brother’s name and seeing him attacked by the papers had shaken him.  


Much to my disappointment, a smartly dressed woman, looking only a tad younger than me stood at the door with an envelope in hand, smacking gum and looking at her phone.

“Can I help you?” I asked, sliding on my shoes to start my work day.

“You need to sign for these.” She said, never looking at me and handing me the rather thick envelope she held like some cursed object. I didn’t think anything of it, I merely signed my name in perfect cursive and she was gone, leaving me staring at the pristine envelope. Parcel in hand I sat down on my red couch and eased open the package, sliding out heavy card stock paper with a law firm from Savannah's name emblazoned across the top. My hands began to shake, but I calmed myself to read through the legal jargon to understand what exactly was happening. I was being sued, by none other than Jackson and Colleen Montgomery for the cost of my tuition at NYU and a few thousand in credit card debt. Due to the funds being distributed by my father’s campaign money, I was under federal investigation for embezzlement.

I was pretty sure my heart had stopped beating and my hands shook as the papers slid to the floor. A pit formed in my stomach and as I broke out into a clammy sweat I thought I might puke. How could they do this to me? I had suffered their abuse for years, and since they paid for my education at Cambridge, I assumed college would be no different, and so I paid with the same account. It wasn’t like they needed the money, if they could live their luxurious life and support my mother’s coke habit the least they could do was pay for me a decent college education.

Well, I was halfway across the world in London. I had escaped on a fully legal work visa and I’d be damned if they were going to abuse me further. I had my own money now, my own secure amex, I hadn’t used a dime of theirs since I graduated and I wouldn’t. Carefully, I stood and ventured to my bedroom. I slid open my bottom nightstand drawer and shoved the papers down in there, tucked beneath my junk like missing buttons, my sewing kit and a few other random papers. I had every intention of completely forgetting about this, because there was nothing they could do with me out of the country, and it would hardly be worth their lawyer’s time to chase such a silly case.

I was putting some finishing touches on the Shakespeare exhibit and was rather pleased with its progress over the past weeks. I was using wings and landscapes painted by a local art school for the mentally disabled as pieces to decorate and highlight the fantasy aspects with, and the night of the opening we would auction them off, and all of the money would go back to the school. Not that I wanted the recognition, but it had been my idea that we should use a local arts program to adorn the displays with. It had been Mr. Cross’ that we auction the pieces off, because I hadn’t realized so many wealthy and important people would be in attendance. It was a great way for us to give back.  


I began my lectures once I had finished my part on the project and found it wonderful to discuss my favorite works with like minded individuals. I was enthralled with how my audience listened to me, seemed interested in what I had to say. We highlighted and discussed the author's meaning, where they were in their life at the time. I loved books, and my passion drew my students in. They were all far more intelligent than I had been at their age, many in the first year oF High School and studying college level books.  


Life had seemed for all intents and purposes, normal. I woke up early, worked and lectured, then went home for me time when Mycroft was working late. When he wasn't working, he'd come by and take me to high end restaurants for intimate candle lit dinners. Then there were wonderful escapades in the jaguar, the partition he had installed being put to use while I rode him into oblivion in the backseat. On the weekends we were inseparable.  


I had started to notice odd things happening around me within days of dating Mycroft Holmes. The first odd occurrence was on a Monday when I was a little dreary and sad being without him. I was up early having spent the night tossing and turning and decided I had time to stop at Speedy's for a coffee. When my order was ready, the barista told me I didn't owe anything. I thought that was to be attributed to my low cut tank top under my blazer, but then it became far too frequent, until one morning a cinnamon roll and my coffee were directly delivered to my front door just as I was stepping out. Next thing I knew, a cabbie showed up at my front door. I urged him that I hadn't called one, but he looked so sad I couldn't bear to turn him away. I decided to take the ride to work and just pay for it, sure it was a mistake. When I arrived at the museum and passed him my card he refused and said there was no fare. Not for me. I was puzzled but thanked him and tried to go about my day. That same morning when I was readying for work, I found a sparkling pair of diamond stud earrings in my jewelry box, the diamonds princess cut and at least a carat. I knew they were diamonds because all of my studs were fake and compared to these new ones they were dull.  


I knew for a fact, Mycroft was spoiling me. I loved it.


	30. Chapter 30

I'd learned to pack a weekend bag on Thursday nights, because every Friday Mycroft picked me up from work and took me to his country home. When it was just he and I together, he laughed all of the time. I'd always known I was funny, but having him think so made me light up on the inside. I'd tell him stories with my many voices and he'd chuckle adorably. He'd talk to me about work, about how so and so was threatening world war three because Interpol disrupted an important business deal. He mentioned concern that Russia's biological weapon was proving rather valuable and if the wrong purchaser acquired it the free world were in danger. Sherlock was certainly not helping with anything, as he had been on a long drug binge as of late, and Mycroft could do nothing for him. He felt helpless, he didn't say that of course, but I knew the feeling all too well and recognized it.

One Saturday, Mycroft introduced me to a new member of his stables. It was a gorgeous Clydesdale of fairer coloring and a bit shorter than Haemon. Mycroft was wearing khakis and these sexy riding boots, and as he opened the stall door all I could think of was him riding me in nothing but those. Then, he began cooing and clicking, drawing the gorgeous creature from her stall and I was in awe. She walked with grace and poise, obviously very fond of Mycroft as she nuzzled him sweetly making him smile in that way that touched his eyes. It was my smile, my favorite one.

"Come here, my darling. You two should become better acquainted." he said, coming over to me and taking my hand. I began to pet her neck and began to laugh as she sniffed about my hair looking for some sort of sweet treat.

"Hello there, beautiful one. And what might your name be?" I asked sweetly, baby talking her as I ran my fingers through her long blonde main.

"Antigone." he said, and it was almost a whisper, and I froze on the spot. Tears immediately sprang to my eyes as I turned to him with my mouth open and a look of shock on my face.

"Haemon has been rather adept at being on his own. I imagine he fancies himself better off as such. You see, it's all he has ever known. That is until he met Antigone, a wild and fearless creature, that brings life and color to his once iced and dark world." he said, his eyes never leaving my green gaze as tears began to fall. I quickly ran to him, locked my legs about his narrow waist and my hands about his neck. With his ever perfect balance and posture, he caught me quite easily and held me as I laughed, cried into his neck and began kissing him.

"Oh I love you, Mycroft Holmes. I love you. I'm so in love with you." I whispered happily as he smiled against my cheek, running a hand through my hair.

"And I you, my magnolia. And I you."

Finally, I eased down from his lean form and studied Antigone, saddle and bridle ready and Mycroft came over to stand behind me.

"Shall I assist you?" he asked and I shook my head with a sassy halfways grin, "Oh Mr. Holmes, I'm very capable of cowgirlin' up." and with a wry wink I flung my leg over the saddle and eased into place, looking down at his blue eyes. He wore a look of admiration and something wicked was in his expression.

"I'm quite aware of your capabilities." and I realized he'd actually made a dirty joke.

"You'll pay for that little jab." I said as he climbed onto Haemon and I eased Antigone beside him.

"I do hope you are a woman of your word." and with a wink he took off ahead of me, thundering from the stables and out into the wide open valley. I wasn't far behind and caught up to him quickly, feeling free with the wind in my hair and the thundering steed galloping away. We laughed and raced across the green grass until finally we eased to a stride and side by side ventured under the apple trees with pretty blooms of flowers. I was so fond of his home, the gardens, the architecture. It was somewhere I could see myself raising children and waking up next to him every morning. 

When Haemon and Antigone needed rest, we left them to graze and to my surprise Mycroft began chasing me. My sassy mouth was becoming rather adept at matching his wit and perfect speech. Powerful and in control of the government he might be, but I wasn't going to be his pretty little arm accessory. I hadn't accounted for the fact that his legs were much longer than mine and how that might factor in his capture of me. It wasn't long before his long arms grasped me from behind and with a squeal of delight he lifted me off of the ground, growling as if he were some predator that had just acquired its prey. He laughed heartily as the threw me over his shoulder and carted me under the shade of one of the apple trees. I could listen to that laugh for the end of my days, I would never again love a laugh as much as his. He threw down a blanket from one of the saddle bags and we lay upon it, me on my back gazing up at the tree leaves, he on his side running his finger over my lips.

"So many secrets you hold, my magnolia. And yet I trust you implicitly." he whispered, his fingers dipping over my nose and then across my lips again, before working their way down my throat and across my collar bones.

"Secrets? I- I don't have any." I whispered, his touch making me warm and causing my breathing to stammer. I knew exactly what he was trying to do to me, he was trying to derail me with his delicious touch. I would match him at his game, everytime. I leaned up and pulling him by the collar of his sport coat kissed him, because he made me crave him like a fire craved oxygen to keep on burning brighter and higher. He didn't protest, he merely matched me with equal passion and kept his hand on my shoulder, rubbing small circles with his thumb. And in that moment I knew the world would never be the same, that I was forever changed. Because I knew no matter the fate of our love affair, I would never feel like this again, I would never want like this again.


	31. Chapter 31

"I want you all to think about this particular passage it says _"Some people reach a place in time where they've gone as far as they can. A place where wives and jobs collide with desire. That which is unknowable and those who remain out of sight. See what it is invisible and you will see what to write. That's how Bobby used to put it. It was the invisible people he wanted to live with. The ones that we walk past everday, the ones we sometimes become. The ones in books who live only in someones mind's eye. He was a man who was destined to go through life and not around it. A man who was sure the shortest path to Heaven was straight through Hell. But the truth of his handicap lay only in a mind both exalted and crippled by too many stories and the path he chose to become one. Bobby Long's tragic flaw was his romance with all that he saw. And I guess if people want to believe in some form of justice, then Bobby Long got his for a song.",_ I read aloud and the students began to gather their belongings to leave. Once everyone cleared I gathered my bag and as I made my way out of the double doors, I noticed there was a torrential downpour of rain and fog outside.

My new cab drier was waiting for me with the door open, and I sprinted into the rain thankful I wore my hair in a bun today. Otherwise had I worn it down it would have been a tangled, soppy mess. It had been a busy week, and my handsome lover had been aloof. He had a lot going on in the government office, the Napoleon of crime attacking pressure points of important parliament members and other government officials. When he wasn't in his office, he was in his very exclusive all male Diogenes club. I understood he needed a quiet place to think, and John had informed the club was completely silent. I'd run into him on occasion at Speedy's and I asked him about it. Apparently Mycroft had kidnapped him on various occasions regarding Sherlock. But when it came to Mycroft, I missed him terribly, but had been rather diligent in not being too needy or overly clingy. He occupied all of my thoughts of course, but he had a job to do. So did I.

I was spending a lot of time with Kendrick and his new beau Quincey. We had dinner, went to bars for drinks and chatted away about anything and everything. Kendrick helped me find auditions and there was one I'd attended earlier this week I had a lot of optimism for. West End was staging Bonnie and Clyde, and Bonnie was country as a turnip green so naturally I figured I had an edge my competition didn't. My audition had gone wonderfully and the casting list was due to be posted by Friday. I had only one more day to wait and anxious as I was about that, missing him overshadowed my worries. As the lights and cars drove past and we made our way to Baker Street, I pondered how giving Mycroft had been in our relationship. I felt like the playing field wasn't quite level and I wanted to change that.

"Is Mycroft still at his office, Theodore?" I asked my new driver. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded his head.

"Can you take me there?" I asked.

"Yes Ms. Montgomery. I am to take you to any desired destination." he answered, and with a fluid movement he turned the car around to take me across town.

We arrived at the cabinet office and I started to second guess my last minute change of plans to surprise my boyfriend at work. The cabinet office was an ominous building, tall and official with large antique columns and sconces lit illuminating the large portico. I thanked Theodore and got out, standing there a moment. I smoothed my skirt and attempted to shake water droplets from hair, hoping I still looked somewhat presentable. I was wearing khaki dress pants with a wide pant leg, my pointed toe flats and mint short sleeved button down with black stitching. As soon as I entered I felt out of my league and very under dressed at the sight of the black haired woman working the front desk. I approached and cleared my throat.

"Hi. I'm uh-"

"Charlotte Montgomery. Here to see Mr. Holmes. I was informed you have top clearance and should be brought to him immediately upon visiting." she said, standing from the desk and leading me up a darkened stair well. Clearance? He told his co workers about me? I preened a bit at the special privilege I was sure had been bestowed upon me, and then I was alone before a large oak door. For some reason, I didn't know what to do. Do I knock or stroll in like the Queen herself? Then again, I did have top clearance so with gentle calm, I cracked the door open and poked my head in, giving my beloved a little finger wave. He was surprised to see me of course, and as I entered the pristine office I smelled a familiar smell, cigarette smoke.

I closed the door behind me and realized Mycroft was smoking a cigarette. I wasn't angry or upset, just shocked really. I had never smelled smoke on him before and he didn't seem the type, but it didn't really matter. He was a grown man after all. Still, my curiosity was getting the better of me.

"I didn't know you smoked." I said, walking over to his desk, feeling shy all of a sudden. Damn, he even made smoking look sexy, his fingers holding the white stick with poise, his eyes clear and bright as he exhaled and closed them with some sort of tension. I sat gingerly on the arm of his office chair as he moved his smoking hand to allow me.

"I have had a trying day, my darling. It has been rather tense." he said and as I gazed at his profile. Again, I noticed the tension around his eyes. I could see now how weary he was, could see the furrow donning his brow that he'd kept so clear in my presence. 

"You're tense? Stressed?" I asked and he looked at me with a crease forming between his eyebrows, as if he didn't understand quite what I was asking. Smirking, I slid the cigarette from his fingers and pressed the burning cherry into the golden ashtray at his elbow on the desk. I then, carefully eased my knees onto the leather of his chair surrounding the outside of his thighs and tasted the fire on his tongue and nicotine and mint on his lips. He responded exactly as I expected, his hands finding my waist and his tongue dancing against mine. I felt his arousal touch between my thighs as his substantial length lifted his pants front and brushed against the heated place between my legs.

His suit allowed me to slide down to my knees with ease, the back of my head inches from his desk. Grinning up at him wickedly I began to undo his trousers, and with his navy blue penetrating my green gaze he had a look of curiosity and confusion on his face. As I pulled him from his underwear, I felt the long velvet length of him, his perfect head with a drop of arousal at the tip. I licked my lips with hungry admiration, because he had an absolutely gorgeous member. I knew Mycroft wasn't a man to tease or tantalize so with my bottom teeth sheethed by my tongue I eased his head into my mouth, licking the droplet off of the end first. I eased him into my mouth and as I took him deeper into my throat, I rolled my tongue against the underside of him, tasting his clean soap and the sandalwood that was signature to Mycroft. I heard his groan of appreciation but decided that wasn't good enough. I had a mission in mind.

I deep throated him to the hilt of his perfect pelvis and created intense suction, pulling my cheeks in. I heard the hiss of his breath through his teeth and felt his fingers pulling my bun loose. He kept his hands on my head after that as I increased and decreased the pressue, bobbing my head up and down and relishing in the moans coming from his lips. In the throes of passion, Mycroft Holmes was a sex god. His deep throaty moans and heaving breaths were making me soak my panties, and the taste of him in my mouth was pure heaven. I ran my palms over his thighs before finally dipping under his substantial length and gently fingering his balls. They were soft and hot under my touch and as I fingered them I heard a cry of delight from him. I looked up to lock my eyes with his and as he gazed at me with the black of his pupils swallowing the perfect blue he had to close them again. I knew I was excelling at relieving Mycroft's stress but my work wasn't quite done yet.

I sucked more and continued to roll my tongue, keeping his balls in one hand and massaging his thigh with the other. 

"Charlotte, darling- I... I'm going to- I should-" he uttered, completely incoherent and absolutely speaking drabble. I relished in the fact I had rendered him goldfish like. If he was going to cum I wanted to taste it. I wanted to feel and taste his pleasure and knowing that I had caused it gave me a glow and determination. Then all at once I felt his muscles coil as he stilled, his hips lifting off of his chair as hot sweet cum spilled into my mouth, coming out so fast and so intense I nearly didn't catch it all. His mangled cries as he came made me give one last stroke with my mouth as I wiped the droplets from the corners of my lips. He was still incoherent, his breathing heavy and his eyes closed. Grinning like the cat that ate the canary, I tucked him carefully back in and refastened his trousers. Then, I eased onto his lap and began lavishing his neck and jaw with light kisses, then rested my head in the crook of his neck.

"Good God woman. That was..." he whispered, eyes still closed and his hand massaging soft circles into my back.

"Better? A bit relieved?" I whispered against his neck.

"Hmm." he hummed appreciatively and I felt like the field was a little more level than it was before. I still had a ways to go, but if it kept him from smoking, I'd get on my knees for him any time.


	32. Chapter 32

Still in post coital bliss, Mycroft held me close in his office and finally, asked, "Pray tell, to what do I owe the enormous pleasure of your stress relief methods?".

I locked my wrists around the back of his head and gazed into his beautiful blue eyes, "You do so much for me. The cab driver, the coffee, the earrings. I want to reciprocate." I answered and to which he scoffed.

"Those gestures are miniscule. Not even gestures, merely tasks I wish to reprieve you of to make you days simpler. These are not meant to be romantic, although no less completed from love." he said and I was in awe. What he did for me, the little things he took for granted everyday were changing my world. He honestly had no idea what he was doing for me. This man was my saving grace, and I was thankful.

"Regardless, I appreciate it. All of it. But most of all I appreciate you. Having you in my life has changed everything. And even if you didn't do all of this stuff, I want you to know I'm in love with you Mycroft. Not your title or all the fancy things that come with your position." and he furrowed his brows, looking taken aback.

"I know, my darling. I have a clear and concise form of human understanding and can read a person from simply inspecting an article of their clothing. Of course, I understand that your feelings for me are honest." and then he paused giving me a wry smile, "Although, I do rather relish in hearing you say it. Tell me again." he whispered, his lips inches from mine.

"I could say it every second every day, but why does it seem so surprising to you?" I asked him.

"I suppose, I rather fancied I would never marry for love. It was for simpler people, the ones whom are able to interact and lead far more modest lives. I am a complicated man and the image most have of me is as cold and reptilian. I have an odd nose, receding hair line and am rather fond of cake." he answered and I laughed.

"How absurd, Mycroft. You're beautiful to me. Every glorious inch of you, and your mind. And your heart." I whispered, running my fingers over the top of his head in his hair.

"There are many that would argue I do not have one. Then, there was you. Bold, brave, sassy and quick witted. I've never believed in love, it's merely a chemical creation in the lobe of the brain based on influences of beauty from youth. And yet, you defy all of my logic. You are everything I have ever wanted, and I was not even aware until you took my hand and said your name aloud to me." he answered.

"Make love to me Mycroft." I whispered, a plea of desperation ringing in every syllable. Wrapping his arms tighter around me he began licking and kissing my neck, firm hands running all over my body. I slid from his lap and kicked off my flats, then slid my pants and panties down my legs, his eyes roaming over me appreciatively. I was already soaked for him, the moisture pressing on my thighs. I heard the tell tale sound of his zipper and eased back onto his lap.

"Take control my lady." he whispered as my slit rubbed along his heard length, teasing and causing me to moan with excitement. My hands gripped the side of his high backed chair and with my eyes locking with his I began to take him inside of me, my tightness causing some tension at first before he slid in. He held my waist, his thumbs venturing up my shirt and fingering my ribs. I'd never really been on top, so at first I felt awkward, but with his eyes so intently gazing into mine I felt confident and began to roll my hips, sliding him in and out as I lifted up. It caused him to press that deep sweet spot inside of me and from his groans I could tell he liked the way I rolled my hips.

It was slow and steady, my body finding its rhythm of lift and roll, slam down, lift and roll, slam down. He was so deep, and I felt him throbbing inside of me, my hand finding his chest to find the throbbing inside of me matching the throbbing of his heartbeat. I drove on with new determination, chasing my orgasm and his, wanting to feel him cum inside of me again.

With a cry of surprise he lifted me and turned me around, pressing my front down on his desk, my fingers gripping its opposite edge. He hummed appreciatively as I felt his fingers slide along the middle of my bum, causing my breath to hitch with excitement and fear. He massaged my cheeks and I groaned at the sheer pleasure of his expert fingers.

"I am not sure if you are aware but I am quite the ass man. And yours has been teasing me for many months. You were practically daring me to take a bite the night we met, the way you swung up the staircase. I will claim it, but not tonight my darling." and as I became wetter at his words he slid into me, drawing my knees back off of his desk, my stomach and chest supporting my weight on top of the polished wood.

His head pressed onto that sweet spot, pressing and pressing, his balls slapping against my skin and his heated moans and cries causing me to clench and tighten in delight and pleasure. I clawed the edge of the desk and cried out in a way I didn't know I could, pure sexual ecstasy. I felt him harden further, and as he spilled himself into me, twitching and jerking, his hips jutting out of rhythm as my orgasm tore through me, my cum mixing with his as it dripped onto his hard length and my chest heaving on his desk.


	33. Chapter 33

I was touring a local artist's market with Ken and Quincey. It was a beautiful London day, the sun was beaming down hotly as summer had hit its full potential. We were having a blast, drinking iced tea, mine sweetened with strawberries and admiring the local painters' and crafters' works. I stumbled upon a small stand that sold men's hand painted accessories. Laying in a case as an example were a pair of cuff links emblazoned with bold white magnolia's. I purchased them for Mycroft and slid them into my cardigan pocket. I would tell him they were for me to be with him always. I was sure he'd like that.

I was surprised when my phone started ringing, its generic tone 'Fight Song'. I immediately knew it was from Savannah by the area code so I answered it confused and a little hesitantly.

"Is this Charlotte Montgomery? Daughter of Colleen Montgomery?" an eager female voice asked, flooding me with anxiety.

"Y-yes. This is she. Who'm I speaking with?" I asked.

"I'm nurse Colquitt. Your mother is here, she's suffered an overdose. Of heroine. We've tried reachin' your father but he's not picked up. She's not doin' well. We think you better come on down." the voice said sadly.

"I- I'm in London. I'll get a ticket. I'm on my way. Be- be there as soon as I can." I stuttered, dread and confusion washing over me like waves. I was so confused but everything in me just seemed to drop and go into autopilot. I heard myself tell Ken and Quincey I had to leave, my mother was ill. They understood. Then, Theodore was driving me to Baker Street, and my fingers were purchasing plane tickets from my phone.

In an instant, I was packing my bag in my apartment. Without really looking I grabbed everything I would need, clothes, bras, panties. Toiletries were already in a travel case from all of my trips previously, in the accurate size for a carry on. My hands shook violently and I figured that was a normal reaction. My mother was in the hospital and it sounded bad. But I wasn't afraid for her, no, I was afraid _of_ her. I was afraid of how I felt and what I didn't feel. It was complicated and frightening and confusing, and I had absolutely no answers.

Finally, I called Mycroft and he answered instantly, "I have to go to Savannah. My mother is sick." was all I managed to say through the tremors wracking me. I sounded tearful , but I wasn't. I was just shaking uncontrollably.

"Is all well? Shall I come with you? I can perhaps-" he began to say but the word "No." was out of my mouth before I could let him finish. He was my happy, my perfect life. I couldn't bare the thought of him tarnished by my past, by my parents and the terror they wrought over me still to this very day. He breathed in deep and I could tell he was waiting on me to elaborate.

"You've been so busy, and I know you need to work. It's fine. Really. I can't expect or ask you to come all that way. It could be nothing." I said, more calmly, almost devoid of any feeling at all.

"You'll notify me? If anything changes?" he asked.

"Of course, baby." I whispered, standing over my bag and blinking back tears, the thought of leaving my beloved London and my beloved Mycroft crippling.

"I love you, Ruth." he said.

"I love you too, baby." I said and quickly hung up.

I was escorted onto the plane by two very polite and professional attendants and was bumped up to first class. I was grateful Mycroft knew everything about me and every move I made. The solitude of first class and the fact I would avoid a layover was a reprieve. The seat was soft and overly large, and their was free liquor. I ordered whiskey straight and tried like hell to reign in my fear. She couldn't hurt me, she was in the hospital. My father was MIA, and I might avoid him altogether, or he might be too busy fawning over mother that I would be forgotten, ignored.

Three whiskey glasses later, my fear and shock caught up with me and I was tired. The nice lady flight attendant covered me with a blanket and provided me with a nice pillow and I cozied up against the window. I plugged in my headphones and listened to my playlist from Mycroft, imagining his arms around me and feeling him breathe in my dreams. Nothing bad could ever happen to me now that he was in my life. I had a love like no other, a love of the ages, and it made me braver to face what might lie in Savannah. I quickly drifted off to sleep.

Mycroft had just confirmed reservations at the penthouse of the Hilton on River Street for Ms. Charlotte Montgomery when Anthea entered his office brandishing a file. He looked up expectantly as she laid it before him.

"Finally acquired those medical files you asked for. They were sealed and it took some coercion and bribery but it's everything missing on Ms. Montgomery." she said efficiently and then turned to leave. Mycroft carefully opened the seal and began to read the file, finding it very thick and larger than he had anticipated. As he read, he felt his stomach turnover with sickness and despair.

Age 2, malnutrition, discoloration of eyes and mouth, severe bruising around buttocks.  
Age 4, inspection of cracked ribs and bruising in the abdominal area.  
Age 5, 7 stitches to left palm and broken index finger  
Age 6, hairline fracture in clavicle and sprained left wrist.  
Age 8, sprained right wrist and dislocated shoulder.  
Age 11, abdominal bruising and near burst appendix, removed.  
Age 13, minor concussion and heavy bruising around the eye  
Age 14, broken nose, reassembly and nose job to restructure.

 

He heaved a broken sigh as he read and knew these were not accidents, these were the marks of heavy abuse. He threw the pages down and cradled his head in his hands as he closed his eyes and imagined the horror, the pain of a little auburn haired girl with wide innocent green eyes. As he went over each description of injury a private doctor assessed he could clearly create the situation and reactions that led to the damage in his mind's eye, it was the burden of his brilliance. It was, for the first time, something he wish his mind could not do. Her _parents_ were monsters. This was what she had been hiding. She had evaded his master skills of deduction, her personality not computing with severe emotional trauma. He had suspected the relationship between her mother and father had been estranged, but never had he imagined she had endured all of this. His darling woman, so eager to love and please, so starved of affection that every movement, every reaction to his touch made sense. He was the first person to touch her out of kindness and tenderness, and love. There was a sharp pain in his chest, unfamiliar and uncomfortable. He rubbed his palm against it and realized he was feeling cardiovascular pain over what he had just read. The weight and gravity of his love for her came upon him in a wave that he had not realized had pulled him so deep. 

First things first, this Doctor would immediately be stripped of his license and his profession would be liquidated. Any assets would be dissolved and he would be left with absolutely nothing. After that, he would arrange for the hospital to dispose of Colleen Montgomery. He had an agent in Savannah whom could ensure her permanent departure if the professionals were unwilling to cooperate. Lastly, he would ruin the political career of Jackson Montgomery. Mycroft arranged for a private jet to take him to Savannah and quickly began working on the demise of those that had caused her harm. He would rectify this through his substantial and expertly trained contacts. Then, he would bring her back and lavish her with love and devotion, care for her as she had never been before.


	34. Chapter 34

As I exited the airport, I was greeted by the sticky heat and humidity so familiar to me, bringing with it the memories of a time long lost. I had come so far from where I began, only to return. I would remind myself that I was different this time, I was stronger. I tried and tried to convince myself, believe the lie you tell and others wont even know the difference. My only reprieve was that Mycroft was far away, safe in London. I would not let my past tarnish him. Still, he was exercising his power, though, and his resources.

An expensive Jaguar waited outside the airport with a nice man in a driver's uniform. He held a sign with my name emblazoned on it in neat cursive. I couldn't help but smile. No matter where I was in the world, he was still taking care of me. The kindly gentleman loaded my bag into the trunk and held my door open. The air conditioning was cool and welcome to my damp, hot skin, and in the center cup holder was a welcome cup of iced sweet tea.

He was making the scariest moment of my life incredibly pleasant.

"Where to first ma'am? Shall I take you to the hotel to freshen up?" the driver asked. Then, I remembered I hadn't booked where I was staying yet.

Palming my forehead I said, "I need to find a hotel first. I don't have reservations yet." I answered.

The kind older man looked at me confused before saying, "But you do, ma'am." Of course I did.

"Right. Hotel first please. I just need to change, but I want to get to the hospital quickly." I answered and rested my head back against the seat and began breathing in deep. I could do this. I just needed to wait until my father arrived and I would leave.

As we drive down the longest and straightest highway I knew of, familiar sights began to flit across my window. Spanish moss hung haphazardly among old willow trees, and houses of pinks and whites designed pre- civil war blinked past. Magnolias hung heavy from trees, white and luminous in the sun. Wrought iron fences held tight around cemeteries, many of the tombstones so faded they appeared to have never been marked at all. I sipped my tea and watched as Forsythe park came into view, it's fountains glimmering in the afternoon light. This place, it was haunted with memories, with infinite beauty. I had hoped to be visiting for different reasons some day.

The car rocks on the stone roadway of River Street, underneath the vast curved awning of the Mariott. I'd never stayed here before, it was way out of my price range. I knew that wasn't an issue this time around. At least I had a safe haven, because the last thing I wanted to do was be in my childhood home, where I would be vulnerable. Where the memories would threaten to break me and I could be within my father's reach. I was afraid of when and where I might see him.

The driver exited the car and pulled my bag from the trunk. I took it from him and tried to give him a tip. He declined and let me know he would be waiting to take me to the hospital. I only needed a few minutes. Check in was a breeze and in what felt like a blink of my eyes, I stared out of the vast penthouse windows over the river. I wanted to bask in the view, I wanted Mycroft behind me, wrapping me in his arms and kissing the back of my head after making love in the big, luxurious bed. I would be back to him as soon as possible.

I changed into a slimming black lacey tank top, black, white and yellow floral skirt, and white sandals. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and stared at my reflection. She may have been unconscious but I could still my mother calling me fat, chubby. When she would call me at Cambridge she'd tell me I sounded chunkier on the phone and ask me my weight. She'd tell me what I needed to be wearing to get a husband, which was usually as little as possible. God, she was cruel.

"I am smart, I am confident, I am beautiful. I am proud of who I am, because I fought to become her." I said my mantra to my own face only once, hoping it was enough. I realized I still had the cuff links I purchased for Mycroft in the small box in my pocket. I slid them inside my skirt pocket, something to keep me grounded for what I had waiting for me in London. The driver was where he said he would be, and all too soon we were headed to Candler Hospital. I was facing my demons. Or at least one of them.


	35. Chapter 35

The flight was taking far too long. Mycroft was sitting comfortably on the government private jet with a glass of scotch, the medical file still laid out before him. The damage was rather extensive, and many smaller injuries were notated throughout the paperwork. It seemed Charlotte had spent much of her early life covered in bruises and abrasions, and all should have been reported to the Department of Family and Child Services. A child. She had been only a child. The doctor had been bought, and the sum was no doubt significant as his practice was rather favorited and popular. Dr. Henry Thibodeau had been a poor man, with extreme medical school debt, finding work in the underfunded hospitals of Savannah and barely getting by. He had been greedy, had sold his morals for his own practice and a rather nice Ferrari. Too bad he would be losing it all within the next twelve hours.

I instructed my driver not to wait on me, that I would probably stay for a few hours. Rather uncomfortably he left me to go rest and grab some coffee from a nearby café. All too soon I was alone, my sandals nearly silent on the tiled floor of the hospital. The reception desk was empty, but signs instructed me to the elevators to ICU. When I arrived off of that elevator, I saw the lights were dimmer and machines beeped all around. A large brunette sat at the nurse's station, snacking on a twinkie and I approached carefully.

"My name is Charlotte Mongtomery. I'm here to see my mother Colleen." I said softly, and she stood up quickly.

"I'm nurse Sue Ellen. Right this way." and she led me to a private room.

Sue Ellen quickly began to explain the condition my mother was in, having overdosed on heroine. Her heart had stopped and she had suffered severe lack of oxygen to the brain. For now she was in a medically induced coma, until she was rehydrated and her blood pressure leveled and brain activity had increased. In my hands pamphlets were placed for rehab facilities. All while I absorbed her words, I stared at the form of the woman that had caused me nothing but pain and suffering all of my life.

Colleen had no make up on her face, and instead of her perfect Marilyn curls her bleach blonde hair was plastered down around her face and forehead. Her arms bore round green and blue spots where her veins ran. She was an absolute disaster, and it made me rub my forehead in frustration.

"I know it must be hard to see your mother like this. I'll give you some alone time." Sue Ellen said, and then I was alone. With her. I assumed a doctor would be arriving shortly, to let me know what I needed to about her condition and treatment options. Awkwardly I sat in the chair furthest from her bed looking anywhere but at her. When the beeps and machines and twiddling my thumbs didn't push time on enough, I slid my ear buds in and listened to my playlist from my love. Before I knew what was happening I had dozed off, the lack of sleep, the jet lag of my flight, everything catching up with me.

I imagined I'd be awoken by the gentle shake of a doctor's hand on my shoulder. I imagined, I'd jump up instantly and apologize profusely. I'd ask him if he had spoken with my father Jackson and when he was expected to arrive. I didn't expect the feeling of suffocation and a vice on my throat to be the sensation that brought me awake. My eyes shot open to stare into the face of my father, his green eyes piercing with hate and anger. He was nearly six foot three, and as I slapped helplessly at his wrists I realized he had always been bigger and stronger than me.

"YOU DID THIS TO HER. YOU RAN AWAY TO GOD KNOWS WHERE AND ABANDONED HER. YOU WERE NEVER THE DAUGHTER YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN. YOU OWED THAT TO HER AFTER ALL YOU PUT HER THROUGH!" He hissed loudly through gritted teeth and I began to see spots. I pulled his hands to no avail, was mad at myself for biting my nails and leaving me with nothing to even leave a scratch with. This bastard was going to kill me. I kicked and panicked, my heart rate so high I could feel its speed in my head, my pulse racing with fear. I would die here, without even getting to say goodbye to Mycroft, without him ever knowing how I loved him. Funny who and what you think about in those final moments.

His blackberry buzzed relentlessly in his pocket and it was Anthea. He answered disgruntled and ill, furious that he had been so far away from Charlotte for so long already.

"I was calling to advise you a paralegal dropped a lawsuit at Ms. Montgomery's two weeks ago. From the lawfirm of Hawthorne and Blake, based out of Savannah Georgia. There are federal charges for embezzlement and stolen funds equating over $300k." she said.

"Send it to me immediately." he ordered and hung up. What had his precious gem been keeping from him?


	36. Chapter 36

It took Mycroft sixteen hours to arrive in Savannah and liquidate the practice of the man that allowed harm to come to his sweet Ruth. That was sixteen hours to long, but he had been lax in his relations with America and his control had taken longer to manifest. Several phone calls later, the charges brought against her for embezzlement were completely forgone, as well. The mother, Colleen Montgomery had perished in her hospital bed. An agent had her injected with a sedative that had her suffocate for a prolonger period of time until she breathed her last. At the exact moment, Jackson Montgomery's political career was being exposed to the tabloids. Several young women were speaking out in interviews of his abusive and sexual exploits with them whilst they were minors.

He made his way to the city jail to retrieve his beloved, feeling confident that she would soon be safely in his arms.

I was saved from death by none other than Savannah's finest. The police showed up and when their footsteps boomed down the hall Jackson released me. I was coughing and gasping and had my hand against my throat. I was trembling with adrenaline too, but the officers didn't notice. They had no clue that the true villain of this situation was the man fawning over my unconscious mother. Like any good girl, I'd never been in trouble, certainly never arrested. Girls from other sides of the tracks got arrested, girls like me never even sipped their tea wrong. I was teary eyed as my front pressed into the wall and my wrists were wrenched back tightly as cuffs were slapped on. They were being much rougher than they had to be because I certainly wasn't putting up a fight. Better arrested than dead, and if a jail cell would keep me safe I'd go happily.

"Charlotte Montgomery? You're bein' released. Seems the charges against you were falsified." the man said. My mouth popped open in shock, but I quickly stood and met him at the cell entrance as it unlocked. It had been several hours since my arrest and I was going through every possible scenario to fix all of this. I was waiting on my phone call so I could post bail and seek out an attorney. Falsified? Well I knew that, but how did someone else? I was sure Mycroft's driver had no idea where I was, and I was positive my phone was filled with worried texts and phone calls. I hated that he was probably so worried, but I'd call him as soon as my belongings were given back to me.

The heavy metal doors opened with a loud buzz and I walked with my head high to the area where I could collect my things. No need to sulk, the worst was over and I'd always walk like a lady, be it leaving prison or the very bowels of hell. I froze where I stood, as I took in an impeccable, dark gray, custom three piece suit, tell tale pocket watch chain at the vest, blood red tie and matching pocket handkerchief, and beside a perfectly polished wingtip shoe, the all too familiar umbrella with the curved bamboo handle. In two long legged strides he grasped my biceps and his eyes raked me over with concern, searching for injury. As he touched my very bruised throat I winced and watched as dismay filled his features.

His eyes, those sad, intelligent blue eyes sent me over the edge and hoarsely, barely managing a whisper I said, "I'm so sorry." and in seconds his arms were embracing me. He folded me against his chest, one hand patting the back of my head like a scared child. That was exactly how seeing my parents had made me feel. Like a small frightened child again. I hated that I had cracked so quickly, all that straight spine, head up candor melting at his presence. I didn't allow myself to carry on, I was not that frightened and beaten little girl anymore. I straightened up, sucked it all in with a most unladylike sniffle. Mycroft offered me his handkerchief as I wiped my eyes and smiled at him.

"Shall we retire to the hotel my darling?" he asked sweetly and I nodded my head, knowing my voice sounded terrible from nearly being choked to death. I didn't want to upset him further. Carefully he passed me my bag, my phone and everything still in place. Then, he handed me the small box, and I handed it back to him instantly. His brows rose sweetly in surprise and he placed a hand over his heart.

"For me?" he asked. I nodded my head and he slid open the box, gazing happily at the cufflinks tucked inside.

"I know they aren't very fancy. But I thought I could always be with you." I whispered, and he pulled me close again, kissing the top of my head and handling me with the utmost care. He continued to smile as the late night heat welcomed us and a little ways down from the door was the driver that had picked me up from the airport. We were in the worst part of Savannah, over the line of the historic district to the dilapidated run down ghetto. I didn't care about that though, because for the first time in days I felt safe, confident and strong.

What happened next was so quick it took my brain several long moments to catch up. At some point I went from walking happily to the car to being on the concrete beside Mycroft. First, there was the pop, pop, pop of gunshots in quick succession. There was the instant spike of adrenaline, stomach dropping, heart so frightened it tried to claw straight out of my chest. A sting sliced across my left arm where I scraped the ground and panic. Instant, total, panic as I began to shake so fiercely I could barely breathe. Mycroft had thrown his arm across my shoulders and pulled me down to the ground, but only for a split second. He grabbed the handle of his umbrella and tore it off, then he fired a precise shot into the distance and I heard someone hitting pavement.

Officers rushed out of the building armed and quickly Mycroft explained in his intelligent, severe voice the attacker was wounded with a bullet in his leg a few meters away. I couldn't remember at which point I started crying, only that in seconds I was standing in front of him, touching all over his gray suit and sobbing, looking for signs of harm. He was fine, but my hands didn't stop shaking as I touched him, choked cries leaving my lips. Fear was choking me far more than if Jackson's hands were still around my throat. I could not explain why, but I was so afraid he'd been hurt, or worst that he'd be taken from me.

Ambulances sang out through the night, and the police began questioning the young man my boyfriend had just gunned down. And as it was happening I was still in shock, because those were words I never imagined would describe a day in my life. Very carefully, his face pale and eyes wide Mycroft stared straight into my eyes. He licked his lips and very sternly he held my hands in his. I was just about to turn and look at the damage around me but then he spoke.

"Ruth, I'm going to need you to keep your vision fixed on me. This is of the utmost importance." he said and for some reason, the words were chilling. I was about to whisper why when a blinding pain set in and I realized my arm was wet.

"I need you to focus and remain calm. Something of which I deem you more than capable. My darling, you've been shot." he said with severity, not a touch of gentleness in his voice, not a nudge of concern. As if I was some sort of soldier, and he was addressing me like the general.


	37. Chapter 37

Every person has their limit, so much they can take in the span of a time frame. I was pretty sure I had reached mine. There was a great urgency from the officers and paramedics around me. The gentleman Mycroft had gunned down informed the police he was hired by Jackson Montgomery to take my life. They were going to split my life insurance policy, because Jackson blamed me for my mother's overdose and eventual passing, which to my shock had happened shortly after my arrest. Apparently, a bullet in this man's leg was not part of their arrangement, so he was singing like a canary.

I was taking stock. In the span of the last twenty-four hours my life had taken a rather dramatic turn and I was beginning to wonder if this was even real life, because it was the stuff of soap operas and movies. My mother had overdosed on heroine and been admitted to the hospital, and while I waited for her doctor, my father, Jackson, had made the first attempt on my life. Colleen Montgomery had passed away shortly after. I was arrested and placed in a jail cell, handcuffed for the second time in my life. And just when I thought everything was over, that my white knight and I would ride off into the sunset, a second attempt was made on my life. I was just a simple southern bell, a small town girl who knew how to host parties and social engagements, knew you wear a slip and lipstick to church and put on make up no matter what errand you are going out to run. I was polite, demure, proper. And this was just not real lift for me.

Never taking my eyes off of Mycroft's I lifted my right hand to touch the gash on my left bicep. Clearly, someone had been aiming for my heart. I felt the sting like a thousand bees and warm blood and quickly dropped my hand away. I had no doubts that I looked pale, frozen, scared and bewildered all at once.

Eyes still boring into mine Mycroft asked, "Do you feel you are going to faint?". His voice was steady and his face was empty of all emotion. He even appeared stoic, as if he were an outsider and I was an innocent bystander caught in the cross fire, not the woman he had said the words 'I love you' to. I knew why he was behaving this way. He was furious, controlling his careful rage, he was frightened and more than that he was sick with the pain of knowing I had been grazed by a bullet. As if the bruises on my neck weren't bad enough.

I truly felt as if I weren't apart of anything going on around me, as if I were just that innocent bystander he was treating me as. I was shut off and locked down. Barely able to move, I forced my head to make one shake. No, I wasn't going to faint. The fact that this entire episode could have cost me my life and didn't, was keeping me upright. I felt cold, I felt terrible, but adrenaline kept that from sending me down to my knees, it was why I hadn't felt the tear in my arm at first. I shuddered, imagining if that bullet had missed further, if it had harmed him.

Like the commander of a great ship, Mycroft stepped into the role he was intimately familiar with. He began ordering everyone around, taking charge and exuding power and regality. I probably would have been fawning over him, drinking him in if it wasn't for the fact I felt so cold and numb.

I watched as Mycroft commanded the paramedics from their own ambulance and with his hand gently on my back he guided me inside. I heard the second ambulance pull away with my attacker, and sat on the gurney. He moved about the space as if it were second nature, and it made me wonder who Mycroft Holmes was before he became the British Government.

I kept my eyes fixated on his gorgeous face, dark red hair with the little patch on the top, as he cleaned the blood from my arm. I didn't know how much I lost or how my arm looked, and I didn't need to. It might be the thing that put me out, and I had promised myself I wouldn't be another thing demanding his care and concern. I'd already surpassed my limit of neediness. What a mess he must be thinking I am. What a burden I must be. But, really he wasn't supposed to be involved, although with prison looming over me I'm glad he was.

"I shall apply a topical numbing agent, though I regret there might still be feeling. I will need you to hold steady and attempt to not flinch." he said and I felt the cold tingle of something wet. Still, I stared straight ahead, gritting my teeth for the pain I was sure was to come. As I felt the needle and stiching pass through my flesh my stomach turned over, but I didn't move. My face was another entity, as I couldn't help as it contorted in pain, my breath hissing through my teeth. I'd had stiches before, it sucked then and it sucked now. Still his fingers were soft and dexterous, he was gentle with me and it was over quickly. I felt the wound wrapped in gauze and then the satin lining of his jacket was around me and I smelled him. I smelled my home.


	38. Chapter 38

With poise and exuding power Mycroft led me to the car, the police having gotten the statement they needed from me, even though I hadn't given it. It seemed his control knew no bounds and I was relieved I wouldn't have to try to talk about the events that had just occurred. Not only was my voice still gone, but exhaustion was setting in and I felt it terribly difficult to remain upright. He held open my door for me to slide in the seat and I watched him snap the bamboo curved handle back in place, which incidentally doubled as a gun, back onto the umbrella he carried and slid it across the floor board before joining me in the car. As we pulled away, he eased me by my waist onto his lap and I curled against his vest and shirtfront. He began rubbing the small of my back in gentle and measured circles, kissing the top of my head. I felt his breathing, listened to his steady deep heartbeat and was seized by an overwhelming desire to cry but just didn't have it in me. I couldn't have lived with myself if he had been hurt, or worst.

It took us no time to arrive back on River Street underneath the covered bridge of the Hilton, and as he exited the car first, he stood very patiently as I climbed out. To my surprise, with grace and ease he swooped one arm under my legs and the other behind my back, carrying me like a bride into the hotel. I wanted to fight him on it, let him know I wasn't helpless and I could walk. I was grateful it was so late that we wouldn't draw attention. It was just too easy to rest in the comfort of his strong and sure arms. I felt my muscles going lax just inhaling his smell, the expensive cologne, faintly of a cigarette and scotch. It all mingled together to create his signature Mycroft scent.

Once inside the gorgeous penthouse, he set me on the bed and I heard him enter the expansive in suite bathroom. The bed was soft and I wanted to sink down into it, but I heard the lap of water against the porcelain tub, and then he returned to where I still sat on the bed. We didn't speak a word, but his eyes said so much more than words could ever mean to me. He slid my tanktop over my head, careful with my injured arm and my bra followed. I stood and allowed him to skim my skirt and panties down my thighs and didn't feel the least bit insecure or self conscious. I braced my hand on his shoulder as he unlatched my sandals, sliding one foot after another free, and in one single movement I was in his arms again.

My bum touched the cold surface of the counter as he pulled a bath bomb from a drawer, dazzling blue with gold stars. I smied at him gratefully.

"You're rather fond of these, correct?" and I answered with a nod. He popped it into the water allowing it to foam and bubble and then rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, close to the sleeve garters he wore. He lifted me again from the counter and I began to sink into the aromatic water, sighing with relief. I felt the chemistry between us in a way I had not noticed before. Normally, when one of us lacked the cover of clothing, we were fire and passion, heat and need. At this moment, I felt nurtured and unequivocal love, love without any conditions. The bath was shallow enough that I didn't have to put too much effort in keeping my bandage dry, and all I could do was stare at Mycroft, waiting for him to leave me in the bath alone.

Instead, he appeared beside me with a bottle of deep purple body wash and dumped a bit onto his palm. The smell was vanilla and lavender and sweet as he began to smooth it over my shoulders and down my back. His hands were tender as he moved over my aching muscles. Every now and then he paused for more soap but quickly returned, his hands moved evenly over my body, and the way he touched me sent a deep ache in my chest, because I was so overwhelmed with his tenderness.He lifted my leg from the water and massaged more of the soft smelling soap, massaging my calve muscles as he did so. He moved to the other leg and took special care to not touch me in any way that was sexual.

"You are rather formidable my dear. I'm beginning to wonder, if perhaps I have been engaging in relationships with the wrong sort of partners." I merely gave him a quizzical look before he said, "I believe the term I am looking for is the salt of the earth. Not a fainting princess, but a goddess of strength and beauty, fierce. A woman who knows what her love is worth." he said.

"Why are you saying this?" I asked in a croaked shisper, it was very like him to compliment me, but he sounded so much more serious. As if he were trying to tell me something I was missing.

"Because I believe you need to hear it. I nearly lost you tonight, and I believe you have softened me, made me a more emotional man. A feat no one has achieved. But this isn't about me. You are infinitely precious." he said, "Especially to me." and with that he turned to grab another bottle. He began massaging shampoo into my scalp and I hummed appreciatively. His firm fingers worked through my hair and when I peeked through one of my closed lids I found him grinning faintly, like maybe he had not yet realized it himself. He was indulging in caring for me, that I could tell. Carefully with a glass pitcher he poured the warm water over my hairline to rinse and it felt so good.

"My mother once did this for me. I remember rather enjoying it as a young boy. I would do it for Sherlock when I was older and he had come along." he told me, and I smiled. My Mycroft, the caregiver.

Mycroft wrapped me in a towel and dried me off vigorously, and grabbed a second towel to work over my hair. He pulled out a stool near the vanity and with a curve of his finger beckoned me to sit. I did as he said, because he seemed to be enjoying it so much. Carefully, he began to blow dry my thick auburn hair, working his fingers through the long strands as it all began to dry in a thick heavy curtain around my face. I couldn't explain the feeling in my chest, what was going on. I knew no one had ever done this sort of thing for me before, no one had ever touched me so kindly, without a sexual or aggressive desire. Mycroft was simply attempting to care for me, to nurture me.

When he stopped, he turned to enter the bedroom, probably searching for my bag and pajamas. Instead of remaing, I followed him this time and saw a shirt lying across the occasional chair, pristine white and collar still in sharp shape. He must've changed suits after his long flight. Before he could turn from moving about my bag I was pulling his shirt on, the sleeves hanging past my hands, the tails well past my hips. His face showed disdain at my choice of sleepwear, but he quickly recovered and grinned and directed me to sit on the edge of the bed, his deft fingers connecting the buttons together for me. It was at this moment these endearing gestures overwhelmed me and I cracked, hot fresh tears filling my eyes and seizing gasps and sniffles overwhelming me.

"I feel that if the events that transpired this evening were the cause of your tears, they would have appeared sooner. Is that why you are crying now?" he asked, hands on my knees, thumbs massaging circles as he stared at my scrunched and wet face. I shook my head no as I tried to find the proper way to voice what I was feeling. I sniffled very unattractively and finally made my eyes look into his again, the concern and kindness nearly sending me into another hiccupping and sobbing tailspin.

"What you just did, it made me feel s-so cherished. And n-no one has before. And I've never needed another person. It's a-always just been me, because no one loved m-me that m-much. My parents, and then you-" and I broke down crying even harder as he pressed my face into his neck, arms around me tight as I locked my wrists behind his head. I was very thankful he understood me so well, that I didn't have to try to tell him how he made me feel. I knew he understood I wasn't a complete puddle because he'd made me sad. No in fact, he'd made me feel so happy and good. And when Mycroft Holmes makes you feel precious you forget that anyone ever caused you pain.

Gently he pulled back and held my wet and red face in his hands. He thumbed my tears away and looked into my eyes with severity and honesty and said "Of course you do not need another human being to make your life complete, but I must tell you. I cherish the opportunity to kiss your wounds. I do not view your past as disasters in your soul, rather view them as cracks to insert my abounding love in. For you.".

And suddenly, I had the calmest feeling in the world fill me.


	39. Chapter 39

Mycroft's words made me a mess of tears again, and instead of holding back for fear of frightening him away, I fell into him. The depth of his sincerity made it more than words, but a promise. And it had me frightened but excited and happy. Moments later, I had expelled all the tears I had in me and reigned myself in. Apart of me knew the reason I was such a tearful mess was because I was tired, absolutely exhausted and I was always emotional when I needed sleep. Thankfully, I think Mycroft was well aware of that too. He eased me back from his chest and pulled the duvet down. Sluggishly, I snuggled into the down soft of the mattress and felt myself instantly falling into the hold of sleep. I fought it to watch him take off his suit, a show I never liked to miss, but the last thing I remembered was feeling him pull my face to his chest in the bed, his sternum against my nose. His arms grasped me tight and I realized this was the place I wanted to spend every night for the rest of my life.

_Blood gushes down my face warm and fast, I'm blinded by instant tears._  
_I reach up and feel something wet and crushed._  
_My nose, my little nose is smashed._  
_They're wheeling me into surgery, and as I fall asleep he's standing by my side._  
_As I fade out, his hands are around my throat again._  
_I can't breathe._  
_I'm coughing, sputtering, clawing at his hands._  
_"YOU DID THIS TO HER. YOU TOOK HER FROM ME. I WILL TAKE YOU FROM HIM."_  
_His knees are on my belly, he's so much bigger than me._  
_I can't stop him._

I jump awake coughing like crazy, my throat dry and hurting. Mycroft has already turned on the bedside light and has retrieved me a glass of water. He places it in my hand and runs his palm down my back, grounding me to the here and now. Before taking a long drink, I press the cold glass to my forehead. I breathe in and out, letting my racing heart calm. I had suspected this might happen, but I'd hoped with him so close it wouldn't come over me so dramatically.

"I am strong. I am smart. I am beautiful. I am proud of who I am because I fought to become her." I whispered to myself and then emptied the glass of water. I was fine. It was just another dream, and I was relieved to be beside the man who treasured me so dearly. I knew falling asleep would be so simple as long as his arms were around me. Finally, I looked into those serious eyes.

"I'm okay. Just a nightmare." I told him calmly, passing him the empty glass to place on the nightstand. He placed it on the surface and pushed my hair from my face, looking at me quizzically.

"Nightmare? I was under the notion they were memories." he said, letting me know he knew everything. He was playing confused, baiting me to spill everything.

"How did you find out? About all of that? I never wanted you to know." I said, a little angry at him and his boundless stalking. He was just so _nosey_.

"I procured your sealed medical file. It was rather difficult, but with my resources the barriers were eventually obliterated. It was easy to confer that the injuries were far too substantial to be accidents." he answered, so serious and almost angry. I sighed and closed my eyes in frustration.

"Why did you keep this from me?" he asked and the hurt in his voice turned my eyes back to his. Mycroft Holmes never spoke with hurt in his voice. In fact, excluding when he was confessing his feelings to me or making love to me, he sounded emotionless.

Sighing I said, "Because I didn't want you to see me as some case or person you had to save. I didn't want you to pity me. I've never wanted anyone to feel sorry for me, but especially not you.". He pulled my chin to the side pulling my face towards him, and stared at me a long moment, his brows furrowed in deep confusion.

"My darling, how could I pity you? I have been an expert at reading other beings most of my life. It is a skill I have honed for many years, and yet, upon our meeting I never could have suspected you were from an abusive background. You have chosen to rise from the rubble of your dilapidated childhood, rather than transform it into a tool of weakness and self loathing. I have seen you shine with the brilliance of the sun, day in and day out. You are strong, smart and infinitely beautiful. You _should_ be proud, because you fought tooth and nail to become her, this woman I see before me. How could I do nothing but revere you and your strength? The most formidable of beings could not achieve such means." he said to me, and I hung to his every word.

I stared at him for a long moment, waiting to see the strike of sadness and pity so many of my friends had expressed at finding out about my past. I never saw it. Merely the endless admiration and adoration the blue always reflected to me. Without a word I kissed him, pouring my love and devotion into the press of my lips. Gently, he pulled me down to the bed, his arm encasing me as we spoke with only the air we breathed into one another. He pulled away to turn off the lamplight, and with my head resting on his chest, his fingers running through my hair, we slept again, his hand stilling on my temple. And this time, I would not awake to an atrocious nightmare.


	40. Chapter 40

That night I slept so hard and so deep that when I opened my eyes I glanced at my phone and realized it was nearly eleven. There was a knocking on the door, and Mycroft answered it. I heard the door close behind him and not even a muffle of voices came through. I wiped my fingers down my face and steeled myself for the day ahead. I maybe should have felt some remorse for sleeping so late, but apart of me knew I must have really needed it. The time for throwing my little pity party was over. I'd had a good few cries, I'd let the pain out and dealt with my issues. Victimhood was never a good look for me, and it was time to brandish my armor and face the day.

Energy filled my veins as I stood by the bed, stretched and yawned. When I began to dig around in my bag for some clothes, I heard Mycroft reenter the room. His face was impassive and difficult to read, so I ventured for a simple question.

"Is everything okay?" I asked. He ran his fingertips in the corners of his eyes and then placed his hands in his jacket pocket. He was already freshly dressed, blue pinstriped suit, matching vest, vibrant red tie and brown wingtips. God, the man could fill out a suit.

"It appears Jackson Montgomery is most assuredly a threat no longer." he answered mildly, truthfully but he was holding something back.

"So they arrested him? After that- after what happened last night?" I asked coolly. He made the face he makes when he's about to say something the recipient will not like. He flattens his lips and ponders his words, wondering if they are correct, choosing whether or not to embellish with sentiment or simply deliver with brute force. Lifting his head up at a nearly arrogant angle, his expression mollified.

"He is deceased." He said. I dropped whatever it was I was holding in my hands and gasped. He's dead? As in, dead dead? No longer breathing. Mycroft took my lack of response as encouragement and continued.

"That was the police force. They wished to notify you, but I'd rather have told you myself. It was an apparent suicide. He has been placed at the hospital morgue with Colleen Montgomery." he said. I merely stared at him a moment, confused as anyone would be. How are you supposed to feel when the most vile evil is permanently evicted from your life? I was trying for sadness, even mourning. I couldn't find it. In fact, all I could feel was profound relief. I took a deep breath in, closed my eyes, and made my way into the bathroom and the shower to freshen up. I could never celebrate the loss of any human life, no matter what. These feelings were so complex I felt numb again.

I pulled my hair back in to a loose and curled ponytail, dressed in dark skinny jeans, and donned an ivory tank top and gray blazer. I applied a bit of foundation to my face and a bit more on the bruises on my neck, blush, translucent eyeshadow that shimmered a tad and mascara. A swipe of cherry chap stick across my lips later, I emerged and found Mycroft ensconced in his work. I knew I'd need to meet with lawyers, make funeral arrangements, and purchase something to wear. I hadn't brought anything all that fancy because I hadn't anticipated being here more than a day or two. And knowing word would travel fast, Savannah socialites would expect me to dress the proper mourning daughter.

My stomach grumbled loudly and Mycroft looked up with an endearing smile and said, "Ah a reminder she is mortal. Shall we take lunch, my darling?". He was so tall, even if I leaned on my tip toes I could only just graze his jawline with my lips. I nodded my head and he took my hand to lead me out of the hotel. It was another hot day, the air wet and sticky and only interrupted by the soft river breeze.

"I'd hoped we'd visit here together under different circumstances. This place is beautiful." I told him as I led him down the uneven cobbled street. I still loved this place, it's tall and uneven buildings lining the river, the ferry boats all named something southern and proper. People were all around, the statue of the little girl waving a cloth to bid farewell to sailors, the random saxophone player in the square. Music playing from all of the best bars, solo cups at hand where you could venture up and down the streets with a cool beverage.

"Perhaps we can make the best of our time here. You shall be my personal tour guide." he answered with a smile.

We had an excellent lunch on the patio of the Chart House, a restaurant I had worked at during my summers and a personal favorite of mine. Mycroft even surprised me by ordering shrimp and grits, one of their top rated dishes. He was rather baffled at the combination, and I laughed when he told me so. Never the less he seemed rather fond of it. I drank sweet tea, he had his unsweet, and with the sun shining it seemed all the cares in the world melted away from me. At least for that moment. His company was so rich in warmth and intelligent conversation. I found myself opening up about my life here, because now there was nothing to hide.

"I used to spend my childhood at the cemetery in Hyde Park. I actually didn't have many friends when I was younger. I used to think, a friend was a friend and if it was really haunted maybe I'd make one. What did it matter to me if they were a ghost?" I said and he smiled. Perhaps it was the sweet tea or maybe it was hearing everyone else speaking, but somehow that southern accent was coming out stronger.

"You were rather an interesting child, and no doubt delightful. I find it charming you made no prejudiced against your friends." he said. It just wasn't a trip to Savannah without visiting River Street Sweets and the rich smell of fudge and caramel on the street was magnetic. I was delighted to sample the pralines and turtles with Mycroft, and he let me feed him things. He would kiss my fingertips as I pulled away and smile. He was such a good sport about everything despite being well out of his element. Turns out, he'd never had coke from a green glass bottle. As we finished up at the sweets shop, I grabbed two bottles and popped the tops off. He was surprised when I placed it in his hand.

"I must admit, I found it absurd you should think the exact same formula of soda should taste any different, much less more savory from different containers. You once again have contradicted science." he answered.

"Are you saying I was right? I told you, you haven't lived until you've had Coke from a green glass bottle." I answered. He merely smiled and continued to sip his beverage, one hand gripping mine.

At 3 I met with the executor of my parent's will at the attorney's office. The same one that had sent me my lawsuit. Apparently, everything they owned was now mine, including a substantial life insurance policy, my father's Mercedes, my mother's BMW, the house and the family safe containing bonds and jewels. I was a little shocked they'd left me anything at all, considering they acted like I was scum beneath their shoes. Then again, they'd had to list a recipient and I was the closest relative by blood.

It seemed so strange to be so calm and reserved about their deaths, but I was still sorting out my feelings about that. I also attributed my lax mood to the fact that I had Mycroft there. With ease we made our rounds, first to the lawyer's office and next to the funeral home and First Baptist Church of Savannah. With a clear head I chose their caskets, gave out funeral details, chose flowers and spoke about the service with the man that had baptized me in the river just in the backyard of the church. It was all much easier than I could have hoped. The services would be in two days according to Brother John and by that point my cell phone was blowing up. All the while Mycroft watched me with interest, his eyes gazing at the surroundings and his brilliant mind working on thoughts I couldn't fathom. It was hard to imagine what he thought of this place, but more than anything he seemed interested in all of this.

"She was baptized here?" Mycroft asked the preacher as Charlotte stepped away politely to speak on her phone. The old preacher man smiled.

"I 'member it like it was yesterdee. Tiniest lil thing and ain't a grain of sand of fear in her. She was about six I thank. Mighty precious she was then. I imagine ain't much changed." John said, and Mycroft grinned. No, nothing had changed. He gazed at the water as he recreated the scene, hymns of the congregation and little Charlotte in a white gown ready to be washed in water. Religion, baffled him. It was for those of meager intelligence, those who needed validation for good deeds and answers to questions best explained by science and mathematics. He shook his head as Charlotte had ventured back and asked him if he was ready to go. He smiled and felt more connected to her than ever, marveling at the absurdity of what seeing a person's past can mean.

Mycroft and I retired to the hotel room as he desperately needed to work and I needed somewhere private to talk. As he zoned in on the issues of the world, I paced all around the living space of the penthouse suite. I procured feelings of sadness as best as I could, talking to Aunt Bethany and Uncle Beau. I spoke with Susannah and then a number of other ladies in my mom's social circle. In true Southern fashion they wanted to bring food to the house, but I quickly told them I was staying in a hotel because I couldn't bear to be alone in that empty house. It was partly true too.

When at last I curled against my lover's chest that night I was once again exhausted, but happy he was with me. I loved the feeling of his breath against my face and the steady deep thud of his heart. He kept me grounded, and he grasped me in his sleep like a raft in an ocean storm. I was loved by him, so very much. And I was madly in love with my Mycroft Holmes.


	41. Chapter 41

Two days later I stood before the full length mirror adjusting my black wide brim hat, adorned with an ivory magnolia and lace. It was true southern tradition that funerals were no exception to looking one's best, and at the Baptist church the ladies wore their best hats and skirt suits or dresses. A custom I truly believe we carried over from our British days. I wore a demure black dress with cap sleeves and an A-line skirt, skimming just at my knees. Around my throat were my pearls, the diamonds from Mycroft were at my ears and my feet were in kitten heels of black and gray plaid.

In a navy pinstriped suit and light gray tie, Mycroft stood behind me and his eyes met mine in the reflection. He placed both of his long fingered hands on my shoulders and rubbed delicately with his thumbs. We didn't speak, I simply gave him a shy smile and then as he quirked his delicate brow I nodded my head. I was ready for this, I would play the part of the sad and mourning daughter as was expected of me. Why should this be any different than any other role I had played?

So many things never seem to change in the south, and as Mycroft held my hand and sat beside me on the old front row church pew with the red, rough fabric on the seat, I was keeping my head bowed sadly. The church still lacked air conditioning and it was muggy and hot, many of the ladies waving fans to stave off the heat. I looked over at my handsome companion to find him not even appearing affected by the humid warmth. It was so odd to see him there, the sunlight glimmering through the multicolored windows and dancing across his cheek, the rise and fall of the preacher's voice as he cried out a sermon about the afterlife in that long southern drawl of amens and hallelujahs, and this British intelligent man was such a strong contrast. He even seemed startled at first when Brother John began speaking, his voice rising and yelling. Likely, he'd never actually heard a Baptist church sermon in his life, and I had to hide a small smile at the thought. I knew many of the other patrons paying their respects to my mother and father were confused at this older and worldly gentleman by my side.

I stood when the congregation was urged to do so and we opened our hymnals. Mycroft merely leaned over my shoulder to read along with me. Page 73, Amazing Grace, a song I knew the notes and words to like it was part of my soul, as if I hadn't been away from church for years.

_Amazing grace, how sweet the sound_  
_That saved a wretch like me_  
_I once was lost, but now am found_  
_Was blind but now I see_  
_Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear_  
_And Grace my fears relieved._   
_How precious did that Grace appear_  
_The hour I first believed._  


 

Her voice called to his soul on a secular level, if he believed in such things. The way she sang the words of the hymn made him wish he was not so wise and could believe in a higher power. It was as if she were bearing her soul, and the glowing light of the painted pained windows danced across her skin illuminating her like a new star. Grace, yes she was his amazing grace. How she had saved him from isolation, and pain and sadness. How she had brought new life to his, making him believe love was much more than a chemical defect in the brain. It was there in that stuffy and frankly bloody hot church he knew, there would never be another Charlotte Montgomery, there would never be a woman he would love so vehemently and wholly. He felt his love for her in his chest, in his brilliant brain, in the cells and molecules in his blood. Hearing her voice that shamed the bells of Notre Dame he knew he would make her his wife. It both amused and shocked him, the Iceman decidedly melting at the warm and tiny hands of this beautiful Southern Belle.

At the cemetery, I was still at the front row before the two plots, Mycroft still at my side. He passed me his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and I took it gratefully. It was easier to pretend to cry if I could hide my face under the guise of drying my tears. It seemed to pacify the pastor and the other mourners. I didn't even wait for the caskets to drop, when all was said and done I did not linger. At this point, what did I care for my decorum? I might not be back in Savannah for long time, and if tongues wagged at my behavior, I'd be long gone in London. If and when I did return I'd be forgotten as the debutante they'd known, I'd be here for mine and Mycroft's leisure.

Mycroft needed to return to his office, world order was at stake and I was ready to get out of Dodge. Our luggage was already on his private government plane and our driver was already making the drive to the tarmac. I stared out of the window, still rather numbly and bid goodbye to the marshes, the Spanish moss and weeping willows, the antebellum homes and plantations. I missed London terribly, the rich accent of the English, the random rain storms and heavy fog. The noise, the people, the traffic and the coffee at Speedy's. I missed my trips to the country house and reading in its sunlit rooms while Mycroft worked on the early mornings of a Sunday. It was my home now, all of it.

The plane was large and luxurious, and when at last we were in the air I was given a mint julep and Mycroft a glass of scotch. I knew I had retreated deep within myself, and that in sorting through my emotions I was becoming cold and stoic. That worked for some people, present company included, but it didn't work for me. I was warm and optimistic, soft and pretty and feminine, yet brave and unafraid of dirt and mud. Without a word I stood from my seat and eased myself to straddle Mycroft, his phone immediately forgotten as I pressed my breasts against his suit front and began pouring myself into a kiss of pure need.

I felt him erect immediately as he threw my hat across the cabin and untangled my hair from the coif at the base of my head. For a moment though, his lips remained submissive as I poured all of my anger, my pain, my hunger, my need, my confusion and my deep unabated love into our kiss. My tongue dove into his mouth and I sucked on his, no longer caring if I needed to come up for air, just breathing in the scotch on his breath and the taste of mint.

As ever, Mycroft could not stay submissive for long, it wasn't in him. He required control, in all aspects of his life. I didn't mind though, because for a man that needed power he was quite giving, and as always a gentleman allowing his lady to come first. Bedroom play was no exception to that. He pulled me from his lap as he stood and took my hand, leading me to a large door with dark wood and frosted glass at the back of the plane. I wasn't the least bit surprised when that door opened and inside was a spacious platform bed covered in white tufted linens with night tables and simple Edison lamps on them casting a soft glow in the space. I barely gave him time to close and lock the door before I was on him again, then backed away long enough to claw out of my dress, panties, bra and heels. What I needed right now was primal and strong, and I was always ready for him.

He could sense my urgency, connected to me like a second skin and he made quick work of his three piece suit. As I laid back on the bed I watched his bobbing erection and wondered if I would ever tire of seeing his gorgeous member. He was a beautiful naked man and my hunger for him grew every time we bared our bodies like this. He ran his fingers hungrily over my nipples and then he was on his knees pulling me by my hips to sheath himself within me. I grazed my nails over his chest and bit my lip. He was so big and the fullness and stretch made me feel reconnected nearly immediately. But I was greedy and needed more.

Pulling his mouth down to mine our lips were a breath apart as I whispered, "I need you to fuck me. Hard." To be honest, I had no idea how he would react, because Mycroft was so well spoken and educated that a foul mouthed lady was not likely to please him. On the other hand, I needed to feel him feeding my ache and had no idea how to tell him to just let go and punish me. He quickly greeted my request with a vicious bite to my shoulder and the sexiest groan/growl I'd ever heard in my life. With ease he bent me over and pulled the pillow under my stomach, my ass high in the air. I felt the sting of him sending a slap on my ass but god did it make me drip onto those pillows more. I'd never let a man do this to me, thought all of my life it was debasing and demeaning. Now I knew how a person could really need it.

He was in me and hitting me deep and hard in that place only he had ever found in my body. He pulled me back by my shoulders, his fingers gripping my clavicle as he gave me exactly what I had asked for, exactly what I had needed. I hadn't even realized or given thought to my screams of pleasure, my loud shouts and moans that were damn near shaking the walls. I could hear his hungry grunts, his heavy breath as if he were running a marathon. I bit the pillow and pulled my arms back to grasp his ass and let him know I needed it harder. He obliged, giving me exactly what I needed and I could have cried from the relief it brought me.

He slapped another long fingered hand across my ass, three spankings in quick succession and I felt myself come so hard I felt my walls lock on him like I'd never let his member leave me, my cum soaking the cloth beneath me and his pelvis and where he stilled inside of me. He came quietly, spurting and jerking with strained ah's, dumping himself as deep in me as he could. I rode my orgasm out, letting it keep its hold for a few precious moments after he'd stopped and finally relaxed my jaw from its hold on the pillow. Mycroft pulled out of me with a strangled gasp and fell beside me, pulling me close and kissing my head, rubbing my arms. I'd screamed myself hoarse and began trying to regain a normal breathing pattern.

Carefully, I kissed his sweat soaked chest and whispered, "Thank you.". I loved post-coital Mycroft, his brain was mushy and his limbs were loose. A strained "Mm." was all he seemed capable of mustering at the moment, but I didn't mind. I kept dotting his skin with kisses, tracing my fingers over his perfect and dark red happy trail. I felt alive again, human and awake on a deep level of my psyche. I was also exhausted, and as I heard a light and absolutely adorable snore from Mycroft, I felt myself smiling and falling into a sleep of peace and self-awareness. I was back.


	42. Chapter 42

Mycroft insisted on escorting me to my flat once we were home. I didn't mind, his presence had become easy, and I loved not being alone. Sounds clingy, I know, but as long as I wasn't being needy and he was around of his own volition, I didn't see too many problems with it. As I unloaded my bag in the bedroom, I heard him fussing about the kitchen and then heard the tell tale pop of a champagne cork. I stopped what I was doing and entered the kitchen, watching him pour a pink bottle of Moet into two glasses on the counter. I smiled of course, he was so skilled at absolutely everything he did.

"What's this for?" I asked him.

He passed me the glass and raised his stating, "Congratulations are in order." he said and carefully he pulled me by my hand into the sitting room.

With a flourish of his free hand he said, "I am most pleased to introduce the star of West End's production of Bonnie and Clyde, Ms. Charlotte Ruth Montgomery!" he said to an imaginary audience. I was so shocked I left him hanging with his glass in the air.

"I got the part? Bonnie?" I exclaimed happily.

"Quite so." he laughed and finally I clinked my glass to his. I drained the sweet bubbly and then threw my arms around him. I was so excited. My first lead since Jekyll and Hyde. My dreams were coming true, I had found a place on West End in a headlining role. This was what I had come here for, to change my life but still keep it the same. I missed the stage, rehearsals, the family like bond created between the cast and crew. I missed the costumes and singing, I missed the part of me that came alive when I was under stage lights belting to the audience.

Once Mycroft left I texted Ken my exciting news and received various heartfelt texts of congratulations and excitement. As I retired to bed, I listened to the original cast recording, taking notes on Bonnie, her motivations, personality, childhood. I always did this thing where I wrote down things about my character you wouldn't find out from the show, but important to me to become her. She hates cooking and is terrible at it, she loves pretty things like dresses and jewelry. I imagine her favorite color is purple, the dark and regal shade. In time, I fell asleep, content and ready for my day back at the museum tomorrow.

Mr. Cross placed me on a new project, one that had nothing to do with my vast literary knowledge. The museum was gaining a new display for a short time, The Faberge Eggs. We would be borrowing them from the Faberge jeweler at the heart of London for a month. It seemed the museum's committee was rather pleased with the turn out from the Midsummer Night's Dream exhibition and thought perhaps my talents should be used on a more prestigious project. I vaguely remembered the eggs and their significance to the Czar of Russia but knew I'd need to delve deeper.

As the weeks went by, the summer carrying on as it does, schedules and work pulled Mycroft and I apart. We still had dinner every night he didn't have to go out with diplomats and parliament, and we would still have our little rendezvous in the jaguar, be it middle of the night, my lunch break or before work. I noticed a man tailing me to rehearsals and realized he was recording me for Mycroft, so he could see me. It was flattering. He showered me with gifts, and left little reminders that he knew my movements throughout my day. I was still saddened. Savannah and the weekends we'd shared had spoiled me, despite the circumstances. I had a deep yearning for him, and tried to hide it. I had shadows under my eyes from restless and sleepless nights, and not to mention I'd lost weight. Which really sucked because I did eat, a lot. I wasn't a girl who tortured herself over a guy and starved.

Still, I knew this was coming, because you didn't engage in a relationship with a man like Mycroft Holmes and expect him to be around all the time. He had world order to maintain, relations to foster to ensure he remained in the powerful position he played. That was when he wasn't doing that freelance work for the CIA. I didn't know what that entailed but I tried not to dwell because I'd scare myself of him being hurt or worst... killed.

I was having a particularly terrible Tuesday. My gorgeous cinnamon roll with the extra icing was dropped by yours truly on my way out of the door of my flat, splattering all over the walls and I had to spend extra time cleaning it up. Then, I fell up the steps to the museum and splattered coffee all over my yellow skirt and white tee. I still managed to stub my toe on a door I had been walking through for months and as I typed my paragraphs describing each Faberge egg I found errors every few words. I was exasperated, tired, and pretty downright ill. At everything. This was not my day, and because of all the errors I seemed to be making, I had to work late. I started my period and was cramping like a mother. I felt a migraine coming on and just wanted to throw everything including my computer. 

At seven thirty I decided it was time to give up the ghost. And wouldn't you know it, but outside it was absolutely pouring rain. Again. The first bit of fortune appeared that day in the form of a lovely umbrella someone left behind at the door. I opened it up and heard the immediate thud of drops as I made my way down the stairs. I entered the car I'd become accustomed to having at my disposal and in the midst of wrestling the umbrella closed, was thoroughly drenched. Now I was really pissed.

I was gazing out of the window longingly, imagining one of my Lush bath bombs, a glass of moscato and a long hot soak. I would change out of my stained clothes and maybe paint my nails afterwards, snuggling up to Pretty in Pink or Arthur. That's when I noticed we weren't heading to Baker Street. In fact, we were in a very upscale part of town, with sconces glimmering on front stoops and well lit lanes with old world street lamps. Small square lawns were neatly manicured with bright flowers bouncing from the weight of the rain drops. The car stopped in front of a dark red brick townhome with white window frames and warm light flooding out onto the sidewalk. The driver held his hand out to me as the rain pelted down upon his uniform, and without question I approached the front door.


	43. Chapter 43

I was just about to knock when I noticed the lion's head door knocker had something sparkling in it's mouth. I pulled a delicate silver chain from within and at the end was an antique skeleton key. I gazed at it a long moment, the curving filigree so ornate, tiny flowers and vines constructed of the metal, it was beautiful and unique. It was no surprise to me that it fit the lock of the door and when I stepped inside I gasped. I stood within a gorgeous mud room, the bench against the wall a pale blue adorned with only a coat on a hook. Then, I noticed the telltale sign of an umbrella perched in a bucket by the door. I smiled knowingly and ascended the curved wrought iron stair case before me.

The house smelled exquisite, like gardenias and clean linen, and it was soft but not overpowering. The lights were dimmed and everything seemed to glow in a warm and inviting light. Polished hardwoods created my path, opening up into a large sitting room area with vaulted ceilings. There was a grand brick fireplace matching the house's façade and an oriental rug stretched out along the floor. Wide windows made up most of the back wall, curving out into a bay crawl space and the rain shimmered against the glass like falling glitter.

I turned to the right and heard the soft lull of a piano being played, a light yet sad tune of Mozart's. I found the source in a study, an ornate sturdy oak desk against the back and the walls made up of bookshelves. Playing a white grand piano was Mycroft, and my heart fluttered at the sight of him. I couldn't believe how long it had been, and my yearning became magnetic and its strength doubled. I had missed him so fiercely. I watched his fingers languidly pressing the keys in measured and precise strokes and it made me melt. He was so adept and skilled, competent and sure of himself. I let him continue playing and when he finished he turned to me with his stalwart easy gaze and for a moment he merely stared at me longingly.

In that moment, I could see that he had missed me too. That he ached for me as I had craved him. Hearing his voice on the phone wasn't enough, there would never be enough time with him. I realized then, as his eyes fell to my curled fingers, I still held the key in my hand. Languidly he stood and towered over me, placing my hands in his as he grasped my fingers. I stared longingly into his aristocratic face and noticed the pained expression he wore. Something was bothering him and I had a sinking feeling, my stomach falling to my butt and my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

"I must speak with you on a rather severe matter." he said softly, his voice almost far away. And right then, I thought I'd heard the most hateful and hurtful words Mycroft Holmes would ever say to me. I tried to still my shaking, and grasped his hands back in an effort to prevent him from feeling how frayed my nerves had suddenly become. My pulse was so quick I thought I might puke. This was it. I had heard these same words before, the 'we need to talk' opening and then the you get dumped finale. I hoped he wouldn't use those clichés I'd heard time and time again. 'It isn't you it's me' or 'I need to focus on my career' or 'I can't deal with you anymore', he was better than that. I hoped.

"Let us converse in the kitchen." he said, and without another glance, he paraded me into the lovely space beside the living room I hadn't looked at when I first entered. It was a country style kitchen, gray brick back splash with cream cabinets, stainless steel double oven, wine cooler, glass door fridge and lovely tiled flooring. It seemed to drag on forever, the time it took him to pour he and I a glass of wine, and in that time I thought about what a mess I was. Not just internally as I prepped myself for what would be the worst break up of my life, but the coffee stains all down my side, my matted wet hair and the fact I had a habit of rubbing my face when I was working and studying so all of my make up had gone. I was like any other woman in the world, I wanted to look like a stone cold fox once her boyfriend pulled the plug.

He began speaking but I was far away in my own mind. I wouldn't cry in front of him, I had to keep telling myself that. He might see it as truly pathetic, Sherlock had warned me how cold he could be. I would look so weak to him. Or it could be worst, he might pity me. Or stay with me because he couldn't bare to see me cry, and then start seeing someone else on the side. Then, I'd be that crazy young fling he'd had, that he had to keep up appearances with to prevent her from going crazy and committing suicide. Then I snorted, as if he or any man would ever be worth my life. He was arrogant enough to think so, no doubt, and I loved him. But seriously, did I look like the Bella Swan type? I don't think so.

"Would you not agree my darling?" he asked. Shit, what had I missed? Shit. Shit. Shit. I looked at him a long moment, brows furrowed as if I was pondering whatever he had just said and then drained my wine glass.

I'd always been honest with Mycroft, and that shouldn't change no matter if he was kicking me to the curb or not so finally I said, "What are we talking about, exactly?". That's when he gave me _the look_. It said, you really weren't listening to me? Good God woman. I should bend you over my knee right now but the matter at hand is far too important. I watched him resolve to repeat himself, something I'd never known him to do for another human being in his life and then I realized I'd missed one of the most important conversations of my life.

"I have been at a terrible loss these passing weeks without your companionship. I have constructed various scenarios with which to remedy the separation. I find I sleep more contently in your closeness, and I fear it has crossed your mind that perhaps I am merely enthralled with your body and having sex. I believe I have discovered the solution, however it is rather unconventional and I would not wish to offend your beliefs or lifestyle choice." he said, looking at me rather forlorn and downright concerned.

"I want all of it. Your sleepy mumblings, your excited singing and dancing, your laughter. The feeling of being curled up in your arms with our fingers intertwined and the soft feel of your breath against my neck is something I can never put into a construct of words. I can, however, inform you in full confidence that it is where I belong and it is in your arms I feel at home. Leaving the office and not having a home to return to is wearing me down." he whispered and my breath caught in my throat.

He crossed the room and I turned on the industrial style stool to face him.

Mycroft eased down to his knees and kissed my knuckles, then with levity and calm, "Would you move in with me?".


	44. Chapter 44

As you'll recall, I was raised a proper Southern Belle, and I knew all the rules of dating. If there was one thing all of those cotillions and etiquette classes taught me it was how to catch a husband from a good family. Honestly the Southern elite were so close to the British it was ridiculous. More to the point, I heard these words echoing in my head when it came to living with a man before marriage: why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? For the record, I'd always found the notion ridiculous, just as I'd found waiting until marriage for sex ridiculous. How could you marry someone you hadn't yet known you could share your home with? Your body and soul with? It was all just a charade.

"You really want me? This?" I asked him. Mycroft was private, I was a secret to most of the people who knew and worked with him. Solitude has been his ally, his friend. And I somehow felt invasive being in this townhouse despite the fact that he had invited me here. Now, he wanted to share it with me and make it ours. It seemed... well downright odd. But what were we but two lonely people in this world that had found each other? Albeit under odd and downright frightening circumstances, but upon first glance I had wanted to be drawn near to him, and he had told me he'd mirrored my affections. Wasn't this what true love was meant to be? Was this not the fairytale I had sought my whole life.

"I've always thought this place needed a woman's touch, although none before you have ventured here. No one knows this is where I reside. I had not spent much time in the country home until there was you, my darling. And please do not mention the cancelation of your lease as impractical because I can and will have that handled. I do not state that as a means to pressure you. I want this to be your choice, I simply felt as you are a lady, perhaps I should make the first move." he said.

"I'd like that very much." I said, because in reality it was a no-brainer. I wanted to see with him everyday, and with his work and me at rehearsals or the museum that was hard. And while distance made the heart grow fonder, so did feeling him breathing into my hair as we slept. I think it was what I'd missed the most since we'd come back to London from Georgia. He pulled me up from where I sat and wrapped his arms around me tightly, kissing my temple and breathing me in. I loved that he could not get enough of me because I didn't think I could ever get enough of him.

After that I was given the grand tour of the house, our house. I'd never get tired of rolling that around in my head, at least not anytime soon. On the main level was the living room and kitchen I'd already seen, as well as a grand dining room, a cozy breakfast nook and bathroom. Up the stairs was the study, Mycroft's home office and the grand master bedroom. Nothing but the best for Mycroft Holmes. The bed was a grand four poster of black wrought iron adorned with filigree and swirling curls, the bedding stark white and quite boring. There were Edison style lamps on the night stand, a tiered ceiling with dimming lights, a modest black dresser with what appeared to be a mirror hanging above it, but was in fact a large flat screen television.

The bathroom was still grand, all muted tones with black countertops for the his and her sinks, gray stone walls, white porcelain tub with jets and grand shower with black stones and an array of sprayers. I didn't want to seem ungrateful but I couldn't wait to start decorating this place a bit, with color because it had a severe lack of it. There was nothing personal about this place, and I understood why perhaps Mycroft always felt so alone.

Lastly, he showed me the closet, an expanse of space like a small bedroom, one side all dark cherry wood and shelving where wingtip and tuxedo shoes were neatly arranged, glass frosted and lit drawers organizing pocket watches, cuff links, ties and tie bars, the sleeve and sock garters, pocket handkerchiefs and everything required to assemble one perfect and pristine Mycroft Holmes. I smiled, turned and found the opposing side of cream shelving and several artfully arranged dresses and slacks, shirts and shoes all in my size. The drawers I slid open to reveal jewelry that I would never afford and never hoped to own. I turned to Mycroft who appeared a little embarrassed and contrite.

"If this is your previous girlfriend's stuff I'm taking back my answer." I said crossing my arms.

"I thought that might sweeten the deal. Do you dislike these items? I chose many of them myself." he said looking worried. I shook my head and ran my hand across my forehead. He could be so daft sometimes.

"Of course I love it. What girl wouldn't it? But I'm not someone you have to bribe or buy. And I don't need a sugar daddy, I just want you. However I can get you. If you didn't have a dime to your name, if you lost everything tomorrow, I'd move you into my place and take care of you." He scoffed at that, as if the idea were just so revolting. I meant it though, because I hated the idea of him not knowing he had me, all of me. I was in the palm of his hands, wrapped around his long and perfect finger, and so help me God I would make this last as long as I could.

"I worry that I'll always be outgunned by you. How can I take care of you? How can I reciprocate? I feel- oh I don't know. I feel at a loss!" I said exasperated.

Mycroft took my hands and led me to sit on the bed, as he sat beside me with a small smile. "I must tell you, I have always known you loved me for me, but the levity with which you just spoke certainly drove that point home. You do not love me for what I can provide, but for whom I am. It is a love of which, I knew not that anyone could be capable. You are at a loss, because for all of your life, you have cared for yourself, for your friends. Without expressing need in return. You have been too strong now, for all of your life. Let me care for you now." he said and I knew he was right. Absolutely right. I puffed out a breath and resolved to the fact he knew me better than I knew myself at times.

I took his face in my hands and began kissing him letting the fire ignite in my veins and feeling him returning the love and affection. He grasped me tightly, his fingers grazing down my back as I fell to the downy soft mattress. I groaned when I remembered it was that time of the month and there was no way I was getting any tonight. Making love with him was my addiction, and any time it was denied me I was more than a little cranky. As his hand grazed my hip, he pulled away from me and smiled down at me, his blue eyes glittering with joy.

Standing he tugged my hand and pulled me to my feet, "Now, if my calculations are correct, and they always are you are menstruating my dear. I understand this is an occasion which calls for ice cream and romantic comedies. I shall allow you some privacy to change and shower, and await you downstairs." he said, turning on his heel before I felt any more awkward. Geez was there anything he didn't know about me? Then again, I wasn't really surprised, and if I was going to live with him I might as well be glad he understood womanhood.

The hot shower eased my cramps and of course, all of my usual toiletries were already at my disposal in the master bathroom. Opening one of the drawers I was relieved to find not just sexy night things from Agent Provacateur but also, loose off the shoulder sweatshirts, cotton shorts, tank tops and all manner of cozy things. I threw something cozy on and twisted my hair up in a messy bun. It was an easy transition, and as I joined Mycroft on the couch, I found I already navigated this place like my home. I was comfortable here, and I couldn't help but feel totally safe.


	45. Chapter 45

That night, Mycroft fed me chocolate chip cookie dough while we watched Pretty in Pink, one of my all time favorites. He had, of course, never seen the film and to be honest he didn't seem entirely repulsed by my movie choice. I always melted when Duckie came sliding into the record store serenading Andie to Otis Redding. I let out a soft sigh at my favorite scene. I felt his eyes on me and a small smile. We were in the same position as when we watched Amadeus after my rescue. His long legs were stretched out and his shirt buttons were undone, my short legs were pressed to his and I was curled against his chest, his long arm lazily down my back. It was so comfortable.

Now that I was living with him, I fully intended to reciprocate his taking care of me. I was quite sure we'd never have so trivial a conversation about splitting rent or the house payment. I cringed picturing the look on his face if ever I brought it up. Still, Mycroft needed something from me, and at five AM it dawned on me what that might be. He didn't want to be alone, not anymore, but more than that I think maybe he wanted someone present and caring. I turned to look at his beautiful sleeping face and eased from his vice like grip. Silent as a mouse I crept from the bedroom and made my way down to the kitchen where I began raiding the fridge.

It was too quiet when his alarm went off, something he was normally awake prior to. There were no soft snores nor warm female curve against him. Rising he showered and dressed, choosing his gray suit and wearing pale rose for his tie and kerchief. When he eased from the master, he heard the sound of music, "(I've had) the Time of My Life" blasting and quick feet worked the tiled kitchen floor. He could smell the robust blend of coffee he preferred and an omelet. From the open landing of the stairwell he found his heart's delight just beyond the kitchen counter.

Her legs and feet moved with perfect rhythm as she flipped the omelet and held the skillet handle like the hand of her partner. She flicked her imaginary dress and those tiny feet simply kept moving, as if she were a walking melody. She spun around again and grabbed a coffee mug, dancing her way to the coffee maker. Her fingers flicked through the air and he felt himself smiling. Had anything in his life brought him such joy up until his meeting of her? Only one day came to mind, the day he became a big brother, the day his parents brought Sherlock home. This delightful creature had his heart by its strings and no longer could he bear the proximity, he had to be closer.

I was in my own little world, excited for Mycroft to arise to his healthy and yummy breakfast. I had orange juice ready freshly squeezed, his coffee was on, and I'd made him an Italian omelet with baby tomatoes, spinach, mushrooms and garlic. I loved dancing, so I was putting my own little spin on breakfast making. This was what got my day started, if I danced like a fool and listened to fun music there was no way I could have a bad day. Not to mention, who didn't adore Dirty Dancing? It was the part where Swayze would lift Baby into the air when I felt warm hands grab my waist and suddenly his hand was across my waist grabbing my palm and twirling me. I slammed into Mycroft's freshly pressed suit front, but he never let me lose my rhythm. His feet led mine back into motion, and we moved about the kitchen. He dipped me and then spun me, so tall he practically had me dancing on air.

"And I owe it all to you." the song sang, and just like Swayze in the movie, Mycroft scrunched up his nose and mouthed the words to me, sending me into a giggle before he sealed my lips with a delicious kiss.

"Nobody puts baby in a corner." he smiled and with a wink he sat on the nearby barstool, helping himself to his hot cup of coffee. I loved when he was flirty with me, it was playful and very lax of him. I was glad that I was the woman lucky enough to be chosen to be on the receiving end of his sweet nothings and loving compliments. I sipped hot coffee and turned down my music, watching him enjoy the breakfast I made for him. It was lovely to have someone to care for, and though he'd never admit it, he needed lots of care. Mycroft Holmes was not as strong as he thinks he is, and he needed to know that was okay. I'd find a way to show him.

"You work from home on Tuesdays, what caused you to arise so early. Surely you could have slept in. Was the bed not to your liking?" he asked concern marring his brow.

"Of course it was! " I exclaimed, "But you needed breakfast and your day starts early. I wanted to ensure you had your coffee and something decent to eat." I answered mildly, wondering why on earth he was asking such a silly question. His mattress was custom made and top of the line, so comfy and soft and firm in all of the right places. Who wouldn't sleep wonderfully on it? As I was about to reach into the cabinet to make my own breakfast and pondering his questions, I felt his long arms around me and his lips against my neck. I stilled and turned in his arms to find the cobalt of his eyes soft and filled with kindness. I ran my hand over his jaw marveling at the beauty of his face.

"Thank you, for all that you are. I am in awe of you, constantly." he said. I smiled as I always did in his presence. We kissed passionately for a moment, my hands dancing over his shoulders and his tangling in my hair. I felt so very precious every time he held me, felt adored and worshiped, strong and powerful. Finally he pulled away and I felt the pang of loss, knowing in a moment he would be out of the door and off to rule the world. Before I became too melancholy for him to see, I decided to change tact.

"Did you mean what you said about this place needing a woman's touch?" I asked and he gazed at me imperceptibly.

"I am not prone to speaking things of which are not valid. Most particularly not to you." he answered and I rolled my eyes. He was so damn sassy and matter-of-fact.

With a hand perched on my hip and a brow raised I said, "Well after I get some work done on my laptop, I was thinking of going about and picking up some things. This place feels cold and impersonal." I told him and wanting his approval once more. I had plenty of ideas and while I hated to decorate our home without him, it seemed he didn't have much time and I had today mostly free. I'd need to work on some songs for the show later, but with a piano at home now I didn't have to travel to do so.

 

Mycroft placed a very thick, heavy credit card on the counter and looked at me warily, "I'd prefer you to use this to purchase items of your choosing for our home. I would also appreciate you're not arguing or disputing this fact." he said and I crossed my arms huffing. He had ungodly amount of money, of that I was sure. However, I wasn't too bad off myself and with two jobs I could more than afford to pay for décor. I tapped my short nails on the counter pondering how exactly I would tackle this particular argument.

"Well, here's the thing _Mr._ Holmes. I understand many people do as you tell them to. And I appreciate this, really I do. But come on, we both know there isn't really going to be an even split of bills, you've bought me a wardrobe, and you've given me all of your love. I can't be in a relationship where all I do is take. So maybe, you just let me pick up a few things, okay?" I said, not really giving him a choice. I thought he might be frustrated, but instead he gave me a shy small smile, touched the bridge of his nose and said, "I acquiesce.".


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! As was promised my loves!

Later that day, I was busying myself about the house with the small decorations I had bought. On the living room wall I hung a large oil painting of a man and woman walking under a bright red umbrella in the rain, the rest of the city scape in the background blurred in grays of rain. It reminded me of us. I smiled proudly before moving on. I adorned the mantle with an iron birdcage I'd found and then filled with red roses. I lit a few candles and moved on to the master bedroom.

To remedy the lack of color, I placed deep orchid purple sheets under the stark gray comforter and adorned the bed with throw pillows in amethyst and aquamarine. It was still a dark room, but it made the jewel tones I'd picked stand out more. I placed my hands on my hips and smiled proudly as I made a mental list of a few more things I'd need. A lantern or three on the dresser would be nice, with some candles and such. I truly hoped he didn't mind my color choices, but if he didn't I hoped he'd make time to discuss his preferences with me. I was sort of taking shots in the dark at this point.

I spent the remainder of my day practicing my songs and lines for the show at the white baby grand in Mycroft's office. Opening night would arrive before I knew it and whilst I was quickly learning my lines, I wanted to perfect my pitch and reactions. Then, I busied myself with working on the Faberge egg project, proofreading my notes and procuring any further research needed. Venturing back to Mycroft's office I scoured the shelves upon shelves of books searching for anything maybe I hadn't yet discovered about the beautiful gifts to the Czarina. That's when a blue file on the desk caught my eye and curiosity got the better of me.

I knew I shouldn't open it, it was wrong. It was an invasion of his savored privacy, but then again had he not invaded mine since, well, day one? Not to mention it was a medical file, a recent one on the man I was living with and in a rather intimate relationship with. Didn't I have a right to know everything about my partner? Of course I did, was the answer. It wasn't like I wouldn't be up front with him about it. He wouldn't like my confession, but I wouldn't snoop through his information without being honest about it. Besides, he'd been nothing but honest with me.

Mycroft was thirty-four years old, something I didn't know and I was suddenly embarrassed. Not at the age gap per se, but I'd been sleeping with him and in love with him and I didn't know his age. Or that his birthday was in November either. His height and weight didn't surprise me, tall and lean like a panther was all I needed to know. Perfect from every angle, every inch a piece of heaven. Then as I read on, I found myself frowning. He had bloodwork done, his blood pressure measured and various other tests performed at this little physical he'd had. It was dated a month ago, and I realized my beloved wasn't entirely who I thought he was.

Mycroft had high blood pressure, sky scraper high to the point I couldn't believe he wasn't a walking heart attack. The thought hurt me so much I almost thought I was having a heart attack. He suffered from insomnia and high stress, causing the various other issues he had. I would have burst into tears if I hadn't made it all the way to the end where I read that many of these things could be treated without medication if he took batter care of himself. I knew that was difficult, the long work hours he kept, rich dinners and the smoking he occasionally did to combat his stress. My heart was seizing in my chest and carefully I eased myself down into the leather chair. I had to do something.

The day had been frustrating, long and beyond exhausting and Mycroft Holmes was drained. Sherrinford was still secure, but only just and there had been new measures to be taken. There was also the situation with the traitor in his midst's, someone betraying the inner circle that protected MI6 special agents. Sherlock was still making his job harder and no matter how watchful his eye on him, he had nearly allowed harm to come to him. Again.

When his car stopped and the door opened, he stepped onto the lane and noted the warm light flooding from the front windows of the Townhouse. In that moment, knowing his beloved was inside caused a warm weightlessness to settle within his chest. He was home and could leave everything on that stoop until tomorrow. For the night he could be hers, he could be the devoted husband coming home to his most treasured gem, the one person he could not get off of his mind all day. In his mind's eyes, at the quiet moments in his office, he could see her breathing, the simple rise and fall of her chest as a sign of life comforting him. He could see her sitting by a window, reading one of her favorite books as still as water in a jar. It made his life feel whole knowing he had her.

Inside the foyer, he heard the ringing bell of her voice carrying and bouncing from the walls, a pretty number that she made even more gorgeous as she sang freely. He leaned the umbrella by the mud rack ascended the stairs two at a time as he followed his nose to the cooking and warmth of the kitchen. His Ruth was bent over inside of the fridge dancing, her delicious rear bouncing to "Still Falling For You". He slid off his suit coat and placing it on the barstool he smiled admiring the view unabashedly. Mycroft noticed the glass of red wine waiting for him, and took a welcome sip as he spun the liquid about the glass and continued to gaze hungrily at his queen.

I was very excited for Mycroft to return to me, and I busied myself happily in the kitchen to Ellie Goulding. I made sure I poured him a welcoming glass of red from one of his many bottles in the cellar. I stumbled across it when the laundry and cleaning ladies were here. Red wine, was good for blood pressure as well as cholesterol. I had found a recipe to try consisting of garlic mushroom quinoa with grilled lemon Italian chicken. "And just like that all the grief, all I feel, you were all for me. No one can lift me touch me the way that you do. Still falling for you." I sang and when I turned there he was, and judging by the expand of his pupils, his labored breathing and the flush of his cheeks he had just been thinking very dirty thoughts.

I was dressed in patterned leggings and a loose long t-shirt and with confidence I sauntered over to where he was perched on the bar stool. I eased myself into his lap, legs pulled to one side in a lady like fashion. I fluttered my lashes and ran my palm across his always smooth cheek and kissed those soft lips. He met my kiss hungrily, pushing me up onto the counter as he pressed his erection against my too thin leggings and grasped my hair and neck. His mouth tasted like the delicious red wine and if I hadn't remembered I was cooking I might've let the kitchen burn down if it meant he made love to me right then.

I broke away and busied myself at the stove as his eyes landed on the blue folder I had left out, an eyebrow quirked incredulously.

"Why is this not in its place locked within the confines of my office?" he asked me irritably. I sighed as I began plating dinner and topped off my wine. It was high time to spill the beans.

Carefully, I began to explain, "I was practicing in your office and then I was looking for a history book. On Russia. For the Faberge exhibit. I found it lying on your desk and I read it." I answered simply. He looked at me seriously and took a bite off his dinner. He was quiet a long moment as we sat and nibbled on our dinner at the bar. I as afraid he was mad, in fact I was sure of it. A man like Mycroft was not easily angered and I was sure rather than exploding he would internalize. Finally, I worked up the courage to reach for his hand. He stilled and turned to me, then brushed his thumb across my cheek and lips.

"I do not want you to worry over me." he said. I rolled my eyes.

"I love you, my handsome devil. I'll always worry about you. Mycroft, you take care of everyone. Your brother, your job. But who takes care of you?" I asked, sincerely and oddly enough I was curious.

"I am rather mature and of age, my darling, in case you hadn't noticed. I care for myself." he answered simply, that arrogant look crossing his face as if I were so daft. That was Mycroft, perfect and secure in himself, he even moved and rested his hands with surety and confidence.

"Well according to this," I said gesturing to the folder, "you're doing a bang up job. Like, not trying at all." I said with a little more sass than I meant to, but it got his attention quickly. His eyes widened ever so slightly and his mouth opened slightly. I pursed my lips and stared him down, because this was one thing I needed him to admit to. I needed him to acknowledge his poor condition so that I could gain his trust to help remedy it. My ipod began playing Mumford and Sons, 'There Will Be Time' and Mycroft stood and pulled me to my feet.

With his arms he held me warmly against him in an embrace, his movements swaying me as we merely held one another. With his palms braced against my back I could feel the love and deep admiration he felt for me.

Mycroft's breath against my ear he whispered the lyrics to the song, "In the cold light I live to love and adore you. It's all that I am, it's all that I have.


	47. Chapter 47

Taking care of Mycroft turned out to be much easier than I would have imagined, and more than that I adored doing it. Seeing him tired and stressed just hurt me, and I wanted to do everything I could to ease his mind. When the crease would form between his brows something inside of me would ache, and I would find myself venturing to wherever he sat to kiss it away. We made love nearly every night, and each night I felt more connected to him. He would build his intensity as if he were worshipping me with his hands and mouth, pouring his devotion and irrevocable love into my body. I'd never thought a man would be so dedicated in giving me as many orgasms as he could in one evening. Somehow, I was never sated and kept wanting more.

I snuck healthy snacks by his briefcase every day like bananas or apples, granola bars and the like, and I woke up at five to make his breakfast. I loved that I could do these things for him, I loved my life at the Townhouse. Of course, he was taking care of me in other ways. I understood he wouldn't be home at the same time every evening, or that he would be so weary from his day he'd barely wish to speak. I rolled with the dice, wanting to be whatever he needed to reprieve him from the day's tasks. He bought me lavish gifts, things I learned I would simply need to accept. My favorite though, was a gorgeous timepiece by Omega. It was rose gold with a shimmering mother of pearl face and moons and stars engraved all over it. On the back was an inscription _In the cold light I live to love and adore you. It's all that I am, it's all that I have_.

We made the perfect contrast, he bought me extravagant gifts because money was never a factor. He'd told me time and time again that he would spare no expense in buying gifts for me, because quality was of the utmost importance and he wanted to gift me things that would last as long as his love for me. Funny to think Fossil was the nicest watch I'd heard of most of my life. In return, I bought him inexpensive things that I knew he would never purchase for himself. Mycroft had no casual clothes hardly, and it bothered me he had nothing to relax in. I bought him cool t-shirts with short V-necks in colors I thought he might like. Mostly olive, blue, red and gray. I bought him jeans from a high end store because I knew he'd never come with me. Fortunately, the sales woman that worked there was able to get the perfect fit for his long legs.

On an August Friday I was able to appreciate those jeans on him. My show had been cancelled after two weeks and I had been devastated. It wasn't well received on Broadway nor West End and we'd had to close. As an effort to cheer me up, we would spend the weekend off sunbathing and swimming, basically being lazy lovers at the country house. I was in the kitchen preparing Mycroft and I a cup of coffee to go when I barely picked up on the sound of his feet on the stairs and I turned. I just thought Mycroft in a three piece suit was delectable. Hot damn he was wearing the blue jeans and a thin polo in black, leather driving loafers on his feet.

The cut flattered his long legs perfectly and the waist hit just right. The light whisking across the tops of his thighs drew my eyes and my mouth was watering thinking about what was concealed beyond that zipper. That's when he turned to retrieve his technology bag from the stairs and I nearly swallowed my tongue. The man had a great ass and although his custom suits flattered his form, the pockets of the denim really put his back porch into perspective. I was a lucky woman. He looked mysterious and devilish in black, a man you just knew could and would do beyond wicked things to your mind and body. I was ecstatic to spend a weekend just he and I in one another's arms.

"Why, my dear Ruth, I was quite certain that during your etiquette lessons you would have been notified that staring is not very ladylike." he said and I snapped from my lustful day dream.

"That's a might fine swing you've got on your backporch Mr. Holmes." I said giving him his coffee in the stainless steel mug he favored. Quirking his brow curiously I watched as he glanced around to the back veranda beyond the long glass windows of the living room. Clearly, searching for a swing. I laughed at his confusion and held my stomach, delighting in my uncanny ability to confound this brilliant man. Apparently, he did not appreciate it and finally I simmered down, trying not to smile. At my expression he brushed his index finger down my cheek.

"Now this expression is one of my most treasured. The hidden smile, an acutely adorable face for which I have no armor." he said.

"I was admiring your butt. And all that's attached to it." I smirked and his eyes widened. I wrapped my arms around his neck and looked at him confused.

"What's that about?" I asked.

"I'm not as of yet accustomed to the idea that you find me physically appealing." he answered. I huffed dramatically, because really he was so damned beautiful, and sexy, and handsome.

"Would it make you believe me if I told you I was shallow and didn't date ugly guys?" I asked over my shoulder and grabbing my weekend bag from the stairs.

"Certainly not. Beauty is a construct of early influences and societal pressures. As it is you are not shallow at all and are more attracted to a man's mind and soul than his outward appearance." he stated matter-of-fact. As he opened our front door to lead me out on our weekend excursion I grabbed his hand, pulling him back to look me dead in the eyes, the cerulean glow meeting my green gaze.

"I'm attracted to everything about you. Your face, eyes, body and mind. And you're heart. And I'll never tire of tangling up in sheets with you." I told him and suddenly his face softened. Cupping my cheek he kissed me and together we ventured out onto the front stoop.


	48. Chapter 48

The country green jaguar was not waiting on the street as I had anticipated. In its stead was a sleek black Rolls Royce Dawn, the wings on the front of the hood the giveaway of its pristine maker. My mouth popped open for two reasons, one being I could definitely appreciate a gorgeous car, but also because there was no driver waiting to pull open the back passenger doors that were not part of this car's design. I watched open mouthed as Mycroft took my bag as well as his and placed them in the trunk and then held the door open for me, the passenger side that was normally the driver side in America. Inside was deep tan leather interior and in a state of shock I sat down.

In seconds he was climbing into the driver's seat, looking capable and controlled like a man on a mission. He popped on a pair of Persol sunglasses and gave me a wicked and arrogant Mycroft grin. With those long delightful fingers he gripped the steering wheel like he gripped the reigns of Haemon his Clydesdale and I swallowed. With a flick of his wrist the car flew into gear and with a quiet hum it bolted down the street. I giggled joyfully as we whipped down the London streets and as he cut his eyes over at me I saw the crook of his smile.

"You seem surprised my darling." he said at last.

"I honestly didn't think you could drive." I said innocently, he never drove anywhere before.

"It is a skill that is incredibly detrimental to hone. Just because I do not, does not equate that I cannot." he stated.

As we eased out of the city's fog he lowered the convertible top and flipped on the radio. Tracy Chapman crooned heartily through the state of the art speakers and I gazed at the trees and lanes whipping by.

"So remember when we were driving, driving in your car. Speed so fast I felt like I was drunk. City lights lay out before us and your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder. and I had a feeling that I belonged. And I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone." I sang and by the second line Mycroft had joined in, smiling around the words as we chorused together. My heart was pounding in such quick succession I thought it might race out of my chest. His voice was lovely and I wondered how I had never heard him sing before. With his knowledge of music and array of instruments he played I shouldn't have been surprised. It was like a moment from a movie, something so difficult to believe was real life and yet it was. It was my life.

I really enjoyed listening to Mycroft's music selections, ranging everything from the Goo Goo Dolls, Counting Crows, Train, Adele, and all of his classical tunes. We sang along to every song we knew and hearing his voice put me in a trance. On the left side of that car I felt myself falling, the bottom dropping out from beneath me. It was frightening because I thought I was already as deep in love with him as I could be, but there he was, singing in that driver's seat and proving me wrong. I noted how relaxed he was, how beautiful his barely there freckles were under the morning sun and the way his brown leather driving gloves flexed and hugged those beautiful hands. Hos cerulean eyes burned like sapphires beneath the lenses of his sunglasses and for a moment, I rested my cheek against the seat and watched him drive.

It was no surprise that Mycroft drove the Rolls like an Italian racecar driver and that no police bothered us. He was king of my heart and of the road too it seemed. Green rolling hills blurred as he pushed one hundred on these mostly empty backroads of the countryside and I inhaled deeply the smell of wildflowers on the summer wind. The sun was dancing on my skin and it was warm and lovely. Every moment with him was magic. I had just flung my arms over my head in glee when I felt the car slow and the gear shifting down. I opened my eyes and looked behind us to make sure I hadn't jinxed us with my thoughts.

"Now it is your turn." he stated matter-of-factly and had his long lean form withdrawn from the car before I could protest. Suddenly the passenger door jerked open and he stood over me, his waist and thighs at my eyes level. I licked my lips subconsciously at the delicious man.

"Out! As I said, this is a detrimental skill. One of which you are not seasoned in exercising." he said and I could tell by his face he was absolutely serious. He knew I didn't drive obviously, but did he know it was because I couldn't. Okay granted, I could but I totaled my first car within three months of owning it. Before that the instructor had really tried to deny me my license too, like he just knew I'd never be a good driver. I moved to New York City shortly after that and never had to worry about it again. Now, not only did he want me to drive but drive a car that I knew was well worth more than the average automobile, but with him watching me with all of his brilliance and capabilities that were well beyond mine. The driver's seat on the wrong side was throwing me off too. Then, icing on the proverbial cake, it was a manual. I barely managed automatic.

By the time I eased into the seat he looked perturbed but also a tad bit satisfactory. Leave it to Mycroft to love bossing me around. I reached for the key and was about to start the engine when he grabbed my hand. He pulled it to his mouth and kissed my pulse in my wrist before murmuring so seductively, "Seatbelt my darling. I cannot endure the mere thought of harm to you in even the slightest." he said. With that black shirt on and wickedness filling his blue eyes I could feel my own engine revving up. Watching him drive, hearing him sing, seeing him so casual and himself with me, it was making me practically panting for more intimate contact.

As the engine started and I placed my foot on the brake, Mycroft grabbed my hand and held it with our fingers laced around the shift knob. My heartbeat quickened at the feel of his gloves against my hands, the warmth of his skin permeating the surface. I bit my lip nervously as he began informing me of the proper procedure for take off in an automatic.

 

"Now, I want you to ease your foot from the clutch and accelerate with the other. Not expeditiously." he said with his hand locked still tightly on mine. I took a deep breath and then turned to look at him.

"A little give and a little go?" I said and he smiled nodding his head.

In moments I had the gorgeous piece of machinery under my control, the horses thundering softly and richly from the engine. I was in love with driving this car. We tore down the lane with me shifting effortlessly, feeling the car near its drag to let me know it needed more. I become so focused on shifting and flying I did not even realize Mycroft's distasteful expression. It was okay for him to push over the one hundred threshold but apparently not me. I took the turns without bracing the brakes and we swished through the winding roads like gliding over water or on rails. Just at the peak of a nasty curve a cop flew up behind me in his standard issue bimmer and I pulled over.

"Crap. Crap. Crap." I muttered, looking worriedly at Mycroft. He only smiled and after a brief conversation with the officer the man was driving back to his post and the driver side door was opened.

"I am quite indulgent of the idea of arriving to our home in one piece. I will drive the rest of the way." he stated firmly, and rolling my eyes I emerged. As I rounded the door he held, I felt a sudden sting on my ass and turned. Mycroft Holmes had just thoroughly swatted my behind and really I was already worked up enough as it was.

"That's for speeding, Ms. Montgomery." and with a cheeky wink we were headed to our weekend getaway.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I have a plan for where this is going so just bear with me. And please keep he suggestions coming! I still love to hear where you guys think Mycroft And Charlie should go next.
> 
> Enjoy!

I exited onto the pavilion wearing a pale pink shimmering two piece that showed off my tan. I had a floral kimono open and hanging on my shoulders and I felt confident. I'm a busty girl and finding a swim suit top that fits properly is a real chore. I quickly found out, it isn't when Mycroft Holmes purchases your swim suit for you. He looked delicious behind the bar, mixing drinks and wearing swim shorts and one of the tee shirts I'd bought him. I sidled up onto one of the stools and leaned over the bar, resting me chin in my palm. His eyes flicked up from the shaker to me and he grinned.

"Shall I purchase you a brown sack as well so you may prove you make anything you put on more stunning?" he asked sweetly and I blushed. The man never ceased to make me feel like the most beautiful woman on earth. Honestly, with him by my side I thought a Victoria's Secret model couldn't hold a candle to me. He passed me a mojito and then led me over to the luxury lounge chairs by the pool. I sprawled out and sipped the refreshing cool drink and looked over at my handsome man, ready to watch how he freckled in the sun.

"Why do you still have your shirt on? It's a million degrees out here." I said pouting. He looked at me over the frame of his sunglasses and then faced the sun closing his eyes. I waited and waited but he never said anything.

"Mycroft. What gives?" I asked him again.

"It is not a million degrees out here. It is roughly 85.4 degrees. If it were a million we would be extinct." he mumbled. I rolled my eyes and sat by his legs on his lounger crossing my arms.

"Oh do not tease me darling. I do enjoy the crossing of your arms and what it does for your ample bosom." he smirked and I got even more irritated. I continued to give him my glare until he sat up and began tracing line on my thigh with his finger.

"I am a tad uneasy at the prospect of displaying my abdomen." he answered and my eyes widened.

"What? Mycroft that's ridiculous. I've seen you naked. I freaking love it." I said to him reaching for the hem of his shirt. He grabbed my wrist firmly but gently and I stilled.

"It's just us, Mycroft. Just me. And I love every delicious inch of you. Please?" and then I got another idea, "If you take off your shirt for me I'll rub you down with the sunblock. Wouldn't want you to burn." I said pouting my bottom lip and fluttering my lashes demurely. Rolling his eyes he stood up suddenly and very slowly he pulled the back of the t shirt upwards and slowly revealed his top half. I knew he was going slow out of insecurity but for me it was like a strip tease and I was practically drooling. When he looked at me and saw my expression of wanton lust, I watched as he preened a bit and seemed satisfied. I was glad. He was beautiful to me, every glorious inch.

That whole day we napped in the sun, sipped mojitos and talked. Every now and then, he'd reach across the short distance between our lounge chairs and hold my hand. We laughed just as we always did, and I was more open with him than I had ever been. He spoke about his childhood with Sherlock, told me about his parents and what it was like being the eldest Holmes child. Now that he knew about my parents. it was easier to tell him about my childhood too. We were connected on such a deep level I nearly forgot where he ended and where I began, and it was so beautiful. It was the love I'd always dreamt of.

A storm rolled in that chased us inside of the house and after a glorious shower we cuddled on the bed. That didn't last long, as our kissing became longer and more involved, his hands finding my shoulders and my fingers finding his dark red hair. Moments later, I was on my back and he was kissing my neck, that sweet spot on my left side where my spine tingled and heat rushed down my pelvis burning its way to my thighs. We were completely naked, our skin touching and melding smoothly together. His lips travelled every inch of me, pressing kissing and flicking his tongue against my flesh as he went.

"You are my fire, and I have been cold all my life. You are my everything. My goddess and my every dream realized. You are the finest, loveliest, tenderest, and most beautiful person I have ever known. And even that is a marginal understatement." He whispered, punctuating his words and sentences with kisses, eyes wide tracing the blemishes of a freckle or mole on my skin. I was breathless and amazed. How could Mycroft have such trying times with finding another person to share his life with? What in my life did I do right to deserve this man?

My knees fell open as he leaned up on his palms at either sides of my head and with his eyes scorching into mine he slid into me. I reached up and ran my fingers lovingly down his biceps and he never looked away. His pelvis massaged my clit as he remained slow and steady, his force hard and deep but all the while slow and passionate. I'd never known how intimate love making could be, never knew what it was like to feed a lover with just my hands and have their eyes hold me. My moans were soft, his breaths were deep and long, and I inhaled every single one. He pressed his palm against my belly, grinding to pull my orgasm out.

He leaned down and pressed his chest to mine, never stopping his onslaught as he kept riding me and I felt my hips rolling to match his languid strokes. Bracing his elbows beside me he pressed both of his palms to mine and laced our fingers tight. Sliding on the exquisite sheets he slid my arms up and buried his face in my neck. I'd never felt more cherished, more loved and as tears sprung to my eyes I felt my orgasm tear through me and I cried out softly. He followed my lead, my sudden tightness squeezing his climax as he jerked within me and stilled resting deep within my walls.

Mycroft brushed my bangs from my face and began kissing me again. I kissed him back, giving him all of the passion and emotion of my heart. I couldn't stop and I didn't want to. He pulled me over him as laid on his back and I leaned down to kiss his chest and red happy trail. Gingerly, I rested my chin on the back of my hand and looked into those eyes that ruled me heart and soul. God he was beautiful. The thunder continued in a deep below outside and the rain fell against the windows, sending us off into a slumber, still curled around one another like we were going to die should the other disengage from our embrace.

The dream that had become my reality was disturbed that night when Mycroft's phone began ringing. He was so deeply asleep he didn't hear it, so I grabbed it to wake him and hand it to him. That's when I saw his background of me asleep, after the first night we slept together. I was immediately touched, but shook myself out of it and urged him awake. His voice was deeper but he spoke more clearly than I would have had I just awoken. As he paced the room I watched longingly, my eyes roaming his perfect form and the delicious globes making up his rear. Now that I was up all I could think of was getting him up to make love again. I was absolutely insatiable.

When he hung up the call he looked dismayed and said, "We have to go back to London.".


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a big thank you to my devoted readers. You guys are my heroes and really make me feel worth while. It's both humbling and an honor to hear from each and every one of you. I'm sorry I've been so stuck but I hope you know I'm working as hard and as fast as I can to keep this story awesome and pleasing to you! 
> 
> All my love!

It was a solemn card ride back into the city, the rain pouring down and the night dark. Mycroft didn't speak much, but whatever was going on heavily involved John's wife Mary, John and Sherlock. He looked worried, tired again with the lines tight around his eyes and his mouth pulled down at the corners. I didn't want to push him, but I was burning with curiosity. Instead of pestering him, my head slid against the door frame and I dozed back to sleep. I faintly remembered being lifted into our bed a few hours later, but Mycroft didn't join me. I stared at the ceiling a long while, looking at the ceiling fan and wondering where on Earth Mycroft was and what he could possibly be doing.

The next morning he arrived back home and I awoke to him sitting on the side of the bed, his suit jacket gone and his face marred with distress. I had fallen back asleep at some point, our intimate excursions wearing me out. I sat up and kissed his cheek, sliding close and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. I could feel something inside of him was hurt and distressed, could feel the pain in his chest as if it were my own. I had so many questions, but as he slid his fingers across his brow I realized now was still not the time to ask. In a choked voice he finally began to speak.

"Mary Watson is dead. And I have found the traitor in our midst." he whispered. Although I'd yet to meet her, I knew she was John's wife and I let out a soft gasp. I watched as tears formed in his eyes and he seemed so shocked., these feelings new to him. Remorse, perhaps guilt, mourning.

"I watched Dr. Watson say his goodbyes to his wife in the aquarium and all my thoughts fixated onto you. What I would have done if it were myself sitting there, watching blood soak out of you. And in that moment I died a thousand deaths." he whispered and tears sprang to my eyes. I wiped them away quickly and continued to hold Mycroft as he searched his brilliant mind for rhyme or reason to love so deeply. He found his composure, his stoic indifference replacing the sadness in his aristocratic face and rose from the bed, my arms sliding down the soft sleeves of his perfectly tailored shirt.

I realized he withheld so much from me, and that in so many ways he would always have secrets. It was like a slap in the face, and inside I felt like something deep snapped, broken like a branch in a forest. We were so different, he and I, and I might never know everything I wanted to about him. I'd still as of yet not met his parents, there were no family dinners or invitations to meet the woman he had assured me time and time again he worshipped with the passion he'd not known he'd had in himself. It was more painful than I realized, because I'd placed it in the back of my mind reassuring myself it would be okay. But in this moment I realized it really wasn't, and that at some point I might actually lose him.

"I must work today. There is much to be done with reprimanding the killer. I do hate to leave you, my darling," he said to me, unbuttoning his shirt and walking to the master bath to turn on the shower. I was feeling particularly needy so when I spoke back I tried to sound nonchalant.

"I understand, Wolfy." quoting his favorite film and from where I sat on the bed I could see him still in the removal of his cuff links to smile at me. I tried to give him a grin back. In my mind I was formulating a plan to revisit his home office and snoop through anything that wasn't locked up. Anything that was I'd be seeking out the keys for. I needed to know whatever it was he wouldn't tell me, I needed to know what he hid from me about his family, about everything. I could feel my faith in his fading, and I knew only when I confronted his demons would it be restored.

While he showered I brushed my teeth and combed my messy bedhead. It was hard not to stare at his glorious naked body through the glass but I held tight to what I was feeling inside. I was sure I'd wanted to be his wife, but if he thought that meant being a pretty vapid jewel on his arm for social events he had another thing coming. I'd told him everything about me when the time came, and I felt my reasons for keeping the abuse from him was noble, if not also a little prideful. And maybe whatever he kept secret there was good reason for it too, but I wanted to know everything I could about him and his life. And it pained me deeply to know he was still keeping a part of himself closed off, after everything we'd shared. I'd given myself over to him completely that first night we had sex. I hadn't just slept with him, Id opened my heart and emotions and bared myself vulnerable.

It wasn't too much to ask for the same in return, because God knows I would die before I'd let harm come to Mycroft Holmes.


	51. Chapter 51

My vindicated snooping began in his office, the place where I'd found his medical file. At first, I don't think I was even looking too hard. Because in ways, I knew what I sought would be well hidden. Because he didn't want me to find it. That made the quest more inviting and simultaneously all the more terrifying. Mycroft Holmes was the crown jewel of this nation, a dark knight in the shadows pulling strings and dealing out secrets and power as if it were currency, that wasn't what I was curious about. It was his heart I thought I understood, the deep abiding live for his little brother and curiosity about the two people that had created the man of my dreams. I was so close to him, but knew so little about the matters on the other side of his heart. I was well into uncharted territory.

As I perused his books shelves, I brushed against a spine that's texture didn't match the others. I roamed over it to find the next several books felt the same. They were Oxford dictionaries, so many copies of it and being a book expert myself, it seemed odd. I went to lift the first from the shelf and found it stuck firm in its crevice. With a new vigor I began to tug and the entire six piece set came from the shelf in one large block. It was heavy like a filing cabinet drawer and with a thump I eased to the floor with it. I edged my fingers along the top of the row of books but found no invisible lid. Hands roaming over the block of books the front cover on the edge came loose and feeling about blindly inside I pulled out several files.

One had Sherlock's name emblazoned on the tab, and another said Eurus Holmes. At first I thought that was his mother's name. Then, I read on an realized it was the youngest Holmes sibling. Why had Mycroft never mentioned a younger sister? And better yet, although we weren't close, Sherlock had yet to mention a younger sister either. So in a matter of seconds I'd found out Mycroft was the eldest of three, he doted on Sherlock in the way any elder brother should but what had happened to Eurus Holmes?

I nearly had my answer when the doorbell rang loudly from below stairs and my phone exuded the noise it made to alert me I had a new text message. Calmly and quickly I put things back as close to exactly as I found them and checked my phone. Across the screen came a message from Mycroft.

_Charity Gala tonight at 9 PM. Will send car to pick you up._   
_Adoringly Yours, -M_

I had reached the base of the stairs by the time I had finished reading the message and carefully I swung open the door. There on the portico stood a woman in an all white uniform, flanked by two others in matching uniforms. I looked at her quizzically.

"Ms. Montgomery, I am Fabian and this is Nora and Tine. We were requested by Mr. Holmes. For your massage, manicure and pedicure." she stated. I smiled despite myself, he thought of everything didn't he? I took this as a sort of apology for rushing off and to make up for the weekend. Not to mention he probably felt bad about the last minute gala plans as well. I held the door ajar as the three ladies filed in and began setting up their respective tools. How could I stay worried or unsure or even irritated with Mycroft when every move he made was with thoughts of me. He put me first right next to his work, I'd resolved myself to that long ago and I really didn't mind. He was first to me, right next to my performing.

Over the course of the day, I was massaged, waxed, plucked, massaged some more and all in all completely pampered. It was exquisite and I had to hand it to him, he knew how to treat a lady. My feet were scrubbed, moisturized, toes painted a gorgeous shade of pale pink with tiny diamonds on my big toe. My fingers were manicured to French perfection with pink and white acrylic and all in all I felt more than ready for the Gala tonight. Just as Fabian and the other two ladies were leaving, I was venturing up the stairs to peruse the racks of my new closet. The doorbell rang again.

No one was on the steps but there on the welcome mat lay a rather large box with a great bow and a card. I picked it up and carried the rather heavy and dense package upstairs to our bedroom. I lay it on the bed and stared at it for a long moment. Hanging on the bathroom door was the dress I had selected for the evening, It was a demure tan dress that I planned to add color to with pops of bright jewelry. I'd selected a matching pair of shoes and was fussing over my hair. Curiosity got the better of me as I untied the large bow and picked up the card on the box.

_If I had a flower for every time I thought of you,_   
_I could walk in my garden forever._   
_Alfred Lord Tennyson_

Inside the box was a gown in the softest shade of blush I had ever laid eyes upon, It was beautiful, with a wide collar resting off the shoulders and a sweetheart neckline dipping elegantly in its center. It was a mermaid fit until the left knee where it became a waterfall of layers cascading to the floor. It was stunning. Beneath it in layers of tissue was a red box with Cartier emblazoned in gold. Really the man had more money than God and he sure did love spending it on me.

With a roll of my eyes I slid open the velvet red lid and found its contents compromised of a beautiful necklace, delicate and adorned with diamonds and at the center, a single rose gold treble clef. Another note was tucked inside the box with it.

_And everywhere she went, there was music_

It was no surprise the dress fit me perfectly, narrowing my waist, accenting my rear and ample bosom without appearing unlady like. The more I accompanied Mycroft to his events, the more I felt a desire to make him proud of me, to show me off. Because I was so proud of him, of who he was and of the way he had been able to love me so openly. My hair was arranged by yours truly in vintage curls and with the bush of the dress against my tan I felt like a nineteen fourties movie star, sans fur coat. My eye make up was smokey, lips neutral and peach blush created a glow. I felt fantastic and as I entered the green jaguar I was excited to see the man of my dreams. I'd missed him so much.


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! Please enjoy this chapter! Hopefully I won't disappear again!

The limousine was large and comfortable, and twilight had fallen while I was preparing for the gala. I felt like a movie star as I sipped chilled and bubbly champagne, feeling it tickle my tongue and calming my nerves. I really enjoyed these Galas, however I still became nervous. So many dignitaries, world leaders, they were a tad intimidating. And yet, no one could make me feel inferior with Mycroft Holms by my side. My handsome knight, my Mr. Darcy. I was so overjoyed to see him I was nearly bouncing out of my seat.

The windows were so tinted I hadn't realized we had arrived at our destination until the limousine began to slow and then finally came to a complete and total stop. Just as I had set down my empty glass for the second time, the door was pulled open with grace and poise and there in a midnight blue tuxedo was the man that made me shine brighter than any sun. His eyes glittered like midnight full of stars as he grinned at me, that secret genuine smile that I was certain he kept secret just for your truly. My knees were instantly weak because, although I'd known it since day one, the man was breathtaking in his formal attire, and it still gave me butterflies to see him.

I was thankful for his steady hand as I eased to a stand and finally realized where I was. Buckingham Palace. I gasped. The trees and roses of the west wing garden were dancing with fairy lights, and all around I smelled beautiful flowers and Mycroft's intoxicating cologne. I laughed because it was amazing, and I was closer than I'd ever be to this place were I just a simple tourist. He watched me take it all in, as he tended to do, and I could tell he was pleased with my reaction. I was overtaken by everything there were minute details I'd later notice I should have picked up on.

Mycroft could hardly find words as he saw her perfectly heeled foot touch the ground first, and then took in her entire form. The dress, he had chosen it personally, fit her like a glove as he had known and it was as if she was not wearing the dress, the dress was wearing her. Her beauty was so magnifying nothing could compete, anything trying to, even a gorgeous gown or beautiful diamonds looked foolish in comparison. Then he watched her eyes, those mesmerizing eyes, kissed by emeralds so perfect and precious they were unfound in this world and he knew, this was the moment his entire life had been leading up to.

Remembering his decorum, he extended his elbow and waited for her to place her perfectly manicured hand there, grasping her fingers against his perfectly tailored tuxedo jacket and leading her down a beautifully illuminated path.

"Shall we, my darling Ruth?" he asked her.

In a soft and beautiful whisper she answered, "Where thou goest, I will go.". His heart nearly gave out.

As Mycroft led me down the path lined with beautiful rose bushes as tall as trees our surroundings began to change and I could hear the soft sounds of music coming from where we were headed. I smiled still, merely pleased to be beside him again.

When the path opened up we were surrounded with rows of red and yellow flowers, neatly arranged across the soft green grass. There were tulips and poppies and the hedges twinkled with lights creating a soft glow like candlelight around the scenery. It was in that moment, as my eyes looked around I heard a voice from the radio singing loud and clear through the night, my eyes finding the red haired figure before staring open mouthed and teary eyed at Mycroft, smiling with satisfaction as I listened more intently than ever to the words of the song.

_"Well I found a woman, stronger than anyone I've known_   
_She shares my dreams, I hope that someday I'll share her home_   
_I found a lover to carry more than just my secrets_   
_To carry love, to carry children of our own..._   
_We are still kids but we're so in love_   
_Fighting against all odds_   
_I know we'll be alright this time_   
_Darling just hold my hand, be my girl I'll be your man_   
_I see my future in your eyes_

The song ended and soft piano music filled the air as I watched Mycroft look around a moment. One hand in his pocket, a habit I had never known him to have, he was always so comfortable and certain in his body, pockets weren't a necessary place for his hands. Before I could blink again he was lowering himself to pick a stray blade of grass from his shiny black tuxedo wingtips. His voice caught me completely off guard when he began speaking and as soon as I looked down into his midnight blue eyes I felt his warm fingers trembling over my hand.

"I loved you and suddenly the world was saturated in vivid colour. I felt my heart melt and start, at the sight of your heart in your eyes. Since I first laid eyes on you, I have felt like a child beginning life for the first time, when the first memories begin to form and remain. If I could believe in religion, then you are my Amazing Grace. Your body is my temple, a place of infinite peace and serenity. If I may spend my life by your side, I will truly know Heaven is here on Earth. And if the ever spoken of God made you, then I can attest he is in love with me. My darling, there is a madness in loving you, a lack of reason that makes it feel so... flawless. I will accept nothing less than flawless for the rest of my days."

Every word he spoke was with the conviction of a man speaking his highest truths, of a man discussing facts as pure and simple as oxygen is necessary for life. It made me teary eyed, I wanted to fall in to a crying fit as the tears pushed out of my eyes. My chest felt lighter than if it were filled with helium. This man, this perfect and wonderful man adored me so deeply, loved me so purely. And then his hand slid from his pocket and he opened a small black box.

"Charlotte Ruth Montgomery, will you do me the greatest honor to ever be bestowed upon me and marry me?" he asked. I didn't even look at the ring, I could barely see through the tears. I pulled him up by the hand he held with mine and through myself at him, feeling his strong sure arms securing me to my chest as I kissed his neck.

"The honor is all mine. There is nothing more I'd rather be than your wife." I whispered. He grasped me tighter and I felt a shaky, choked sigh leave his lips. As he righted me on my feet, I noticed his eyes were shimmering and then he was laughing as I watched a tear or two flow down his perfect cheeks. I was winded and gazed at my perfect rose gold, antique fire opal engagement ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to a personal crisis (long story short my life is a total wreck) I haven't been writing like I should. Also, Mycroft's proposal needed to be amazing, believable, and not cheesy! His words were painstakingly picked my yours truly and I hope you felt the sincerity and Mycroft-ness of it all. 
> 
> I love you dearly and promise not to disappear for this long again. More chapters to follow!


	53. Chapter 53

We slow danced the rest of the night in that garden as if we were the only two people left on this Earth. It was the most romantic and magical moment of my life. All of my fears, grief, doubt and worries melted as I was in the arms of Mycroft. I considered him the greatest gift in my life, and yet he had treated me as if it were the other way around. The word of his proposal echoed in my mind in perfect clarity, and as I rested my head on his chest in the gardens I had to squeeze him close and blink back my tears. The long hard road that led me to this pinnacle in my life, suddenly didn't seem so bad.

Once in the backseat of the limousine, we were all hands and mouths, heavy breathing and tugging each others hair. We let the tension build, Mycroft not allowing me to venture beyond the layers of his tux until we arrived home. The anticipation was practically killing me, but he would make it so worth it.

When the car came to a stop, like the perfect gentleman he presented to the world, Mycroft adjusted his tie and smoothed his hands down his gorgeous ruby hair. I tugged my bodice straight and wiped the corners of my lips for stray lipstick, and when I was good and adjusted his hand was extended to assist me with stepping out. I noted the blush on his cheeks and the black of his pupils swallowing the midnight blue with his desire. I preened at the thought, proud I could make this man dizzy with desire and lust. How could I not feel like a sex goddess?

Once the front door had been opened, and I'd no sooner stepped inside the foyer, Mycroft was on me. His long skilled fingers danced down my neck as his lips pressed to mine and his tongue darted into my mouth. I pressed my hands on his shoulders and kissed him back matching his hunger and longing with my own. I eagerly kicked my heels off as he scooped me up to carry me up the stairs to our master bedroom. Setting me down on the bed he held up one finger and then he was gone. Breathless I laid on my back a second and marveled at my ring.

I had never seen something so beautiful and I was sure it was a custom piece. The band was intricately woven from rose gold, adorned with filigree, vines and tiny dancing swirls. In an oval halo of tiny white diamonds sat the fire opal, just slight raised on my dainty finger. The white of it was glittering with every color of the rainbow, a northern lights panorama of red and blues and greens. It was so gorgeous, so unique, so delicate. I was choked up just looking at it because I knew it was special.

"I crafted the original sketch of that ring. On a post it note in my office, at Parlaiment. My thoughts had ventured to you, as they so often do." Mycroft said, returning with a soft lull of music in the bedroom and in his hands champagne and two crystal flutes. I sat up and stared again at my ring in awe.

"This is almost the most beautiful gift I've ever received. However, you're still holding tight to first place there." I told him, my eyes meeting his so he would understand the gravity of my words. I heard him inhale sharply, surprised as ever that I mirrored his love and devotion.

Mycroft took a set beside me on the bed after divesting himself of his jacket and poured our glasses. With a soft clink we smiled our cheers and sipped. In a split second he slid my glass from me and placed it on the nearest flat surface. His fingers tangled in my hair at the base of my skull and he was kissing me breathless. With deft fingers he reached for the back of my dress, but with tenderness I palmed his chest and delicately pushed him away. At first his brows furrowed with concern but I gave him a sly mischievous grin and waved my finger.

I was swaying my hips to the rhythm of Pony by Postmodern Jukebox and slowly began undoing the back of my dress. I took my time, sliding it down my shoulders, teasing him by fingering the neckline before revealing my strapless mint and white lace bra. Once my dress pooled at my feet I approached where he sat and ran my manicured fingers over his thighs. He was staring open mouthed and when I leaned over him, he tried to kiss my breasts. I moved just out of his reach as he did and his hot breath made me tingle.

Since I well knew he wasn't a man to tease for long I straddled his lap just as the song ended and began undoing his tie, kissing him and feeling his fingers press on my hips and the curve of my waistline. I let out a soft moan unintentionally and in seconds he had me on the bed on my back. He was shrugging out of his vest and shirt in seconds, his pants sliding down his long legs like liquid silk, underwear included.

Mycroft's fingers danced across my panties, at the crevice of my lips and he grinned. They were soaked already.

"My darling fiancé, so wet for me already." he smiled and then pulled them down, moving achingly slow and making me shiver and wiggle with desire. My thighs fell open of their own volition because God did I want him between them right then. He shook a finger at me and laid next to me before pulling my shoulders flush against his chest. He was so warm and smooth, his perfect skin soft. His lips found my neck and I moaned as one hand worked the hooks of my bra and the other played with my right nipple causing me to moan loud.

Next, Mycroft placed his arms around me, one across my breasts the other gripping my side. My butt backed up to him, and when I did he lifted my leg back by the knees across his hip. In a fluid motion he slid down the bed before placing himself all the way inside of me and causing me to cry out in ecstasy. He was so big, so perfect, long and touching that sweet spot inside. I threw my head back against his shoulder and lifted my chin to nibble his earlobe. His hand gripped my hip harder as he began to move inside of me.

Pulsing into me, with each thrust I heard him whisper in my ear, "I. love. you. My. Precious. Gem." and in seconds I was rippling around him, my orgasm tearing through me at his words. After that, he lifted me atop him to straddle him and ride him. I gripped the wrought iron of the headboard and listened as he breathed deeply in and out, panting and watching his eyes clothes in pleasure. He was truly a beautiful sight to behold.

At last he lay overtop of me and in one final stroke he came into me and I climaxed around him, feeling him spurt inside of me in hot sporadic strokes. Before pulling out of me he held my face in his hands and wiped tears I hadn't even noticed from my lids. I was so in love, so overwhelmed to be so completed. He kissed me a long moment, merely keeping our bodies connected and touching me in comfort and assurance. It was wonderful. Later on, curled around each other like two people prepared to die in one another's arms, we drifted off to deep and peaceful slumbers.


	54. Chapter 54

The question of meeting Mycroft's parents and the lock box I found in his office faded quickly from my mind as a new opportunity arose in my career. _Anastasia_ had released on Broadway and was coming to West End. My agent, Sarah had informed me as soon as word hit and I was beyond excited. At my fiancé's coercion I had decided I needed an agent, someone to help me find the best roles and auditions. I'd been against it for a while, wanting to make my own name on the stage, but I also knew I was being stubborn. Sarah was amazing, and I know I partly chose her for the way she reminded me of Kat. She believed in me almost as much as Mycroft did, and she was pale with long white blonde hair and big blue eyes. She was lanky and sometimes a tad awkward. I adored her.

For weeks, Mycroft was my champion. He'd come home from his long and trying days and still managed to play for me on his Steinway grand Piano, going over and over my audition piece. I tried to deflect him, tell him I could do it on my own. He'd have none of it, of course. How wonderful it was to be so loved. I made it up to him in every way I could, handling anything and everything he'd allowed me access to so that he could get an extra bit of sleep. We were both a bit drained and exhausted, but this mutual understanding and love we had deflected it so we never fought or snipped at each other.

I desperately wanted this role, I'd loved the animated film as a child and the chance to play Anya was absolutely a dream come true. My audition piece was _Journey to the Past_ and I went over it and over it. I sang it on my way to the museum, I rehearsed in a closed water closet on my lunch breaks, I even caught myself trying to belt it on my short walks in the evenings. My outfit was already picked out, a simple, fitted, black sweater dress and knee high socks with ankle booties. I was as ready as I'd ever be.

The night before my big audition, Mycroft treated me to his culinary skills and we had breakfast for dinner. He was charming in the kitchen, and as I sipped wine I laughed as he tried to make a show of his cooking. I would never tire of how playful and carefree he became with a glass of wine and the presence of me. We were so happy and we were both more relaxed than we'd been in a while. He forked a bit of strawberry French toast and fed it to me and I groaned in delight. Could he be any more perfect? Delicious looking, delicious cook, my cheerleader. How did this small town Savannah girl get so lucky?

Slowly, Mycroft ran his hand through my hair and pulled my forehead against his by the nape. With his eyes closed he whispered softly, "You will have this part. It is yours. I am certain." he said and I smiled. I would constantly feel capable with him by my side, and I didn't rely on him for his support, but it was the best thing that had happened to me in a while. That night, curled around one another I had hoped sleep would find me far easier, but I was too antsy. I ended up staring at Mycroft, so at peace and breathing deeply and softly. He was absolute perfection and beauty, and I was so over joyed to share my future with him. My past may have been packed with baggage and tragedy, but all I could see for my future was joy and brightness.

I awoke alone the following morning to my alarm softly singing and was a bit flustered. I assumed he had to work early, so I showered and pulled my hair back and applied a light touch of make up. Sliding on my shoes I grabbed the sheet music on my nightstand and made my way downstairs. I heard soft piano playing and could hear the telltale click of wingtip shoes on the tile. As I rounded the staircase and made my way to a bar stool, Mycroft was plating some toast for me and placing a steaming mug beside my plate.

"I'm supposed to be doing this for you." I told him with a shy smile.

"Today is my lady's audition and I although I am completely confident she will have earned this role, I feel my stellar girl is still a tad uneasy. We have for the madame, hot tea with lemon, dry toast and a bit of Bach to release some tension." he said, his long fingers gesturing at my plate. I nibbled at my toast, drank all of the tea and soon it was time for me to get on my way. We took long moments saying goodbye, his hands on my cheeks, lips and tongues dancing. All the while he murmured words of encouragement and pride. It nearly hurt to leave him as I made my way inside the country green jaguar and began reading over the sheet music anew.


	55. Chapter 55

I was quietly singing, humming the notes the entire ride to the theater. I thought it would take much longer than it did, but I was so engulfed in my piece time flew past me. Inside there were tons of girls, all dressed in varying outfits they had deigned audition appropriate, some reading over their music, others playing cool confidence. It was an intimidation game I had grown well acquainted with and I had my own tactics to deflect the pressure.

Carefully I stood by the water fountain in the hall and slid on my sunglasses, pretending to be blind. It probably made me look silly or like I was cool and calm. It helped me block everything else out, allowed me to focus only on being aware of me, my body, my voice. I knew this piece like I knew every inch of Mycroft's gorgeous body. I grinned despite myself and looked at my left hand clutching my headshot and resume. My ring even glittered in the dim yellow hall lights of the theater. My Mycroft, my love. All mine. Shaking my head and I recounted my introduction, I looked at my music and attempted not to fidget with my bangs carefully twisted in a French braid away from my face.

"Charlotte Montgomery." a faceless voice called and with a deep calming breath, I lifted my chin and entered the theater doors. I feigned confidence as I made sure and steady steps to center stage, hearing Kat's voice in my head. _Don't let them see you sweat. You've got this._ and then we would do our famous fist bump. It never mattered if we were competing for the same part, there was no competition between us. Just endless love and support, because either way we were one another's cheerleaders. My heart hurt with a fresh pang. "This is for you Katherine Nash. You hear me?" I whispered so quietly to myself, glancing up at the bright stage lights.

"Good Afternoon, my name is Charlotte Montgomery and I will be auditioning for the role of Anastasia." I said, projecting from my diaphragm and smiling politely at the directors and producers, not too big, just professionally enough. With no more to say, I nodded to the accompanist and bowed my head. I waited for the first note before shouting, "Curtain!" and curtailing into my role. I began slow and soft, uncertain as Anya as I stayed still a moment. I twisted my fingers, to portray my confusion on what it would mean to venture to Saint Petersburg.

When the tempo picked up, the notes came out louder for me with ease. I began to belt as I began stepping, walking and throwing my arms out. I through all of my passion for theater, my desire for this role into Anya's desire to find her family. My fingers trembled ever so slightly but I willed them to still, focused all of my energy on the character, on my vocal chords. And then it was time for the big finish, the last note of the song. I could hear the orchestra in my mind, I closed my eyes and spread my arms, smiling around my words triumphantly. Home. Anya was singing about finding her home. It was the thing I had searched for most of my life before finally sharing home with Mycroft. I felt a great release in my chest and finally, I was done.

"Thank you for your time today." I told them sincerely, glancing around at the dark faces before bowing and taking my leave. Of course, they said nothing, remaining stoic and indifferent. That didn't bother me, because for the most part I was used to it. I'd stopped looking for hints or approval in their looks long ago. Still, I was wired with nerves, anxiety and of course excitement. Which was a good indication that a coffee date with Ken was not the brightest idea but, I was about to burst with my good news. I was soon to be Mrs. Mycroft Holmes.

His deep black waves and tan arms were flying at me as soon as we met in the shop, and when at last we took our seats, he rubbed my legs furtively grinning from ear to ear. It was one of my favorite gestures, it was how we comforted me, expressed his love to me.

"Dorothy you are just glowing!" he exclaimed excitedly, "What have you learned?" he asked wiggling his deep brows and grinning brilliantly and puckishly.

"I just had an audition. For West End's rendition of Anastasia." I said excitedly. Ken then of course made me recount every detail of the audition and then went over my chosen headshot. He had always been great at resumes and headshot choosing, but it seemed he had taught me well. He was pleased with my choice. Just as I laid my left hand across the photo to slide it back inside my portfolio Ken had snatched my hand and in normal fashion squealed in delight. I was instantly blushing as everyone in the café seemed to be staring at us now.

"Dorothy! Are you marrying the wizard?" he asked. With a wry smile I grinned and nodded my head. For a moment as he gushed over my ring I felt my smile fall.

"What's wrong, baby girl?" he asked finally, pulling my hand closer and warming it between his palms. I hadn't even realized I'd been crying until I felt the wet warm tears on my cheeks.

"It's just... I wish Kat could be here, you know? I mean, all I have left is you. No mama to help me get ready, or Daddy to give me away." I answered tearfully. In seconds I was in Ken's arms and felt his palms warming my back. I suppose all of this had been at the back of my mind, but I'd forced myself to not think on it. How could I think of all of this when I was so overjoyed? I was marrying the closest thing to Prince Charming, if not better. It felt good though, to have a shoulder to let it all out on. Not that Mycroft couldn't comfort me, he could, but I wasn't sure if he'd feel guilty or at fault somehow. Too often and too easily he took the blame for my trials and struggles.


	56. Chapter 56

At long last, after several cups of coffee and eventually glasses of wine, Kendrick and I parted ways and I was off to the house in Mayfair. I felt better, lighter and more than ready to see my fiancé. Yet, another word to roll around in my mind delightfully. I supposed I'd not thought much on love before him, only that I wanted it to be the best I could get and that I would reciprocate whole heartedly. I was sure I'd spend my life on stage with only good friends, that I'd set my standards too high and would either end up alone or lower them. But I wouldn't be doing either. And if there's one thing I knew now, whatever path had brought me to Mycroft Holmes, it was well worth every painful step on worn and weakened feet.

When I entered our foyer, I set down my bag containing my resume and headshots. The lights throughout the house were dimmed and dark, and I noticed the bay doors overlooking the back gardens were open, the soft fall breeze blowing in. Tea light candles lit my path on the hardwood as I stopped just within the door frame. My heart clenched with over whelming love. Arms braced on the wrought iron bannister, his back to me, there stood my Mycroft. Just beside him was a table laden with pink peonies and a bottle of pink Moet champagne in a chiller. His dark red hair was blowing ever so slightly, and he looked beautiful, eyes tired but bright as the midnight sky, hands soft and powerful, suit in perfect order. My sigh caused him to turn.

My smile was instantaneous as my feet brought me closer to him. He pressed me against the bannister and immediately ran his hands down my back, caging me and embracing me. With just his touch I felt already my tension from the audition releasing. I inhaled his scent happily, ran my nose along his cheek and merely embraced the warmth and comfort of my one and only home. A handful of moments later, he gestured one finger up and turned to pour us each a glass of Moet and passed me my flute.

"Are we still celebrating our engagement?" I asked giggling.

"While that is still quite the cause for such merriment, I'm afraid we are celebrating something else this evening." he said, lifting his glass. I mimicked his motion with a raised brow.

"To the finding of, at long last, the Grand Duchess Anastasia!" He stated proudly and triumphantly, our glasses clinking before he drained his. I stood there a moment, stock still and brows puckering just at the middle.

"Mycroft. darling, I haven't even gotten a call back yet. You can't possibly know..." and that's when he lifted his finger and tapped the side of his nose. In that exact second my stomach turned over and my mouth flew open in disbelief. I set the glass down a tad too hard causing his demeanor to turn to genuine concern.

"Please tell me you didn't." was all I could manage, barely a whisper.

Mycroft lifted his chin before creasing his forehead and the corners of his mouth pulled down, "I merely suggested that should you audition as profoundly as I am aware you are capable, anyone unable to see the obvious talent and perfection of you for the role would be removed from the production and directing rights of the show." he state, so matter-of-factly. I grabbed my stomach and stormed back into the house instantly, tears pricking the corner of my eyes. I stopped in the middle of the living room trying to catch my breath. When I felt his electrifying fingers on my shoulders I closed my eyes in a combination of longing and despair.

"I merely wished to ensure you were given the role you deserved." He whispered softly against my neck. With tear streaming down my cheeks I turned on him sharply.

"Just because you put me on a pedestal and think I deserved it doesn't mean a thing! I wanted to earn it, on my own merits! I worked so hard, practiced and practiced, and for nothing!" I shouted with tears falling down my cheeks.

"Of course it was for something. You've been cast as the role." he stated, clearly quite befuddled at my outburst.

I gripped my hair in frustration, "No! If you were just going to manipulate or buy it for me then why did it matter if I spent hours of grueling piano and vocal exercises to perfect the pieces? You're controlling my career now, what's next?" I said sobbing. At this statement he began to look quite cross and folded his arms across his chest.

"That is quite enough! I do not wish to control any aspect of your life. I merely am exercising my right as your future husband and protector. I am only trying to give you the world, anything you desire. So you may have no doubts of my love for you." he answered, his voice sharp and angry as a contrast to his sweet and kind words. I didn't melt this time.

Just as I began to once again berate him and attempt to make him understand the gravity of what he had done my cell phone began ringing. To my surprise it was Dr. Watson. I said nothing to Mycroft but answered the call and turned my back to him, just to be sure he understood I was quite furious with him.

"Ever baby sat?" John asked suddenly.

"Well yeah, of course. I'm great with babies and kids. Why?" I asked, my brain changing tact as it absorbed what was being said.

"Think you can come to Baker Street and watch Rosie for a bit? Sherlock and I have a case." he continued. I considered it a moment and eyed Mycroft over my shoulder.

"I'd love to John but, are you sure? I mean its Rosie." I told him, seeing as how I'd never been around his daughter.

"Look, you're dating Mycroft. There's no way I cant trust you if he does. Plus she likes Sherlock well enough, you should get on with her great." he answered. We wrapped up the arrangements and I turned to Mycroft when I hung up my phone.

"I'm going to Baker Street for a bit. John's asked me to watch Rosie." and without much else I headed to the mudroom to pull on my riding boots and grab my bag. Mycroft appeared distraught, his hands reaching for me as his legs seemed frozen in place. I sighed deeply and stared at the hardwood a moment. One look in his eyes and I knew, not only was he upset, he really didn't understand the gravity of what he had done, nor how wrong he was.

"I'll be back later. We can talk when I've calmed down." I said, and I nearly walked out of the door before I heard him say, "I love you, my darling Ruth." and I stopped.

I barely looked over my shoulder, my eyes not meeting his when I said, "Love you too.".


	57. Chapter 57

As the car stopped at 221 B Baker Street my mind was still reeling. I was devastated by Mycroft's interference. I wanted the part of Anastasia more than I had wanted any role in a very long time. I'd grown up watching the animated film and Anya's sass had been so like my own I thought she was the most fiery and wonderful princess to ever grace the screen. Granted, I was quite disappointed when I found out the real story; that there was no Grand Duchess lost in the world. The weakness of the royal family and the revolution that destroyed them. But still, I remember Anya saying the in film, "But sure, I guess every lonely girl would hope she's a princess.". I was one of those lonely girls.

My mind ventured to happier things in the presence of little Rosie Watson. She was an absolute delight, a happy child with wide blue eyes and wispy white blonde hair, chubby pink little arms and that decadent baby smell of soap and powder and a clean diaper. My ovaries were nearly bursting being so close to a little human. I had to check myself in a quick hurry, I'd only just gotten engaged and was currently in disagreement with my meddling fiancé. But still, she was such a sweet little thing, playful and giggling like the tiny tinkling of bells. I was already hoping John might let me watch her again.

The evening wore on until night had fallen and Rosie was becoming rather fussy. Since I had baby sat as a young girl, particularly during my summers home from Cambridge, I prepared her bottle with no issues and began feeding and rocking her. Try as I might, she would quiet, but her eyes remained wide open, and no amount of Shh's or blankets could make her fall into a slumber. Perusing Sherlock's shelves of books on anatomy and flesh eating bacteria I found one rather unexpected volume. Moments later, Rosie and I were settled in as I began reading Peter Pan,

"When the first baby laughed it broke into a million little pieces and those pieces became the first fairies." I read as we both became very still on the long leather couch. The flat was warm and even warmer with little Rosie's cheek pressed against my chest. Slowly, as I began to feel her breathing deep and even out I felt my eyes fluttering. I supposed a little nap wouldn't hurt, and I hadn't heard a word from any of the boys, not John or Sherlock, nor Mycroft either. It was too easy and before long I found myself snoozing.

The previous night had been absolutely dreadful for Mycroft Holmes, and that was not only due to Sherlock and John's little game. He had been scared out of his wits entirely and consequently notified of the lack of security at Sherrinford, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. He spent his evening pacing his office floor in disdain that his greatest secret and security measure had been violated. Far worst was the very woman's arms in which he might seek comfort were no where nearby. Clever, on John's part, pulling his beloved Ruth from the home to baby sit Rosie, he was beyond pleased she had not had a part in their terrifying scheme.

Feeling rather uneasy and very much disgruntled Mycroft left the town home in a state of melancholy. He missed her delightful humming as she readied, that boisterous singing in the shower and the way she made his coffee so perfectly. Her pillow smelled of coconut and soap and faintly of her feminine, floral and seductive perfume. He had once been so accustomed to life a lone, and then tasted paradise with her. One night without her was one night too many, and he would rectify this situation as soon as he had settled the affair with his siblings. Certainly his beloved would understand in time that he had only ensured the shows quality by assuring her the role.

As he mounted the stairs to Baker Street, Mycroft found himself stopped rather suddenly at a breathtaking sight. On the leather couch where Sherlock would pout was his Charlotte, sleeping soundly. Her lashes lay across her cheeks like black mink and her cheeks were glowing as the light from the windows illuminated them. Dust motes danced in the air over her pert little nose and curled in her arms was little Rosie. The two of them sleeping so soundly gave him a peace in his heart he had not felt since before she had stormed out the night before. Without much thought he tore his phone from his pocket and silently snapped a photo. He could imagine, for a moment, his child resting in her arms, an honor he hoped she might still wish to bestow him. He nearly cracked his façade as his eyes watered.

John Watson came in the room that moment and stood beside Mycroft, "Hard to imagine waking them... they looked real peaceful." He said, sipping his coffee and giving Mycroft a knowing grin. Mycroft closed his eyes and lifted his chin indignantly.

"Where is my brother? I believe he has something he wishes to discuss with me." He answered, regaining his poise and stoic persona.

I awoke feeling Rosie coo and being shifted from me. Instinctively I wanted to hold her closer, just a moment longer. I groaned and finally opened my eyes as John lifted her away. Smiling I wiped my eyes and sat up.

"Oh she was a doll, John. Just a doll." I said, clearing the sleep from my voice and smiling at him. He mashed his lips together and raised his eyebrows as he looked to someone standing behind him. I turned my head and there was Mycroft. I was disappointed in myself to find I was still very angry with him.

"Good morning, dearest. The car is just around front should you wish to break your fast before work. Or you could stay home today." he said. I knew he was trying to be nice but I wasn't having it. He'd gone too far this time.

"No I think I'll go in. I need some time to think. Somewhere you aren't occupying." I answered, sliding on my shoes in frustration. John told me thanks and as I made my way to the stairwell I meant to only pass him, but he gripped my arm. Not hard, of course, but the slight of pressure in his touch gave me pause. He was reaching for me and I knew he was upset. Even if he could not show it in front of John. Delicately, I kissed his cheek, pausing just long enough to revel in his after shave and cologne without being pulled under his spell and forgetting my upset.

"I'll see you at home." I whispered. He didn't let my arm go, and when I pulled away he looked deeply into my eyes.

"I love you." he uttered, desperation bringing his voice to hoarse.

"Love you too." I said, and then he released me and I heard Mrs. Hudson joining the Baker Street crew.

"You have to sit in the chair. It's the rules. They won't talk to-" and then the door closed and that was the last I heard of them.


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I'm curious, do you guys want to see Eurus terrorize Charlie for the sake of getting to Mycroft? Or would you prefer to see the story go a different route? I'm honestly interested in your thoughts and am at a bit of a cross roads. I don't want to make the story too over dramatic, but I want to keep it interesting. 
> 
> You guys inspire me so much and I love your feedback.

I would always remember it as the day the Earth stood still, because for me, the sun stopped holding my entire world in orbit. Mycroft was the sun.

I was working at the museum, marveling at the handling of the Faberge eggs as they were placed in their respective display cases for the day's guests. I was smiling, because how ironic was it that I had just auditioned for the role of the lost Grand Duchess of the Czar that spurred the creation of these very masterpieces. I wasn't allowed to touch them, but watching was my favorite. The literature was completed on each egg and I would be introducing them as guests walked through the exhibit. It was an exciting day for me.

My attention was pulled from the sapphire blue egg when I heard gasps and noise from the other employees in the foyer. I could hear a news cast vaguely as I looked from the curator over my shoulder to the doorway. I had just turned back around, assuming some sort of royal spotting had occurred or some other random affair, when Mr. Cross came running in with his standard sweater vest and glasses slipping down his nose.

"There's been an explosion on Baker Street..." he said, his words soft and calm. I felt the entire world go quiet in that moment, as if I had gone completely deaf as a result of a flash bang. On uncertain steps I walked past the other employees to gaze up at the flat screen on the wall in the main foyer. I felt my stomach fall and my knees weaken. It was 221 Baker Street. The light off of the glass revolving doors moving across my peripheral caught my attention and standing there was Ferguson. His face looked exactly as Mr. Andrews' had when the Titanic was deemed sinking with no hope. It was in that moment I knew, Mycroft had been at John and Sherlock's flat when the explosion occurred.

I clutched my stomach and reached the back of my hand to cover my mouth, an attempt to derail the sob clawing its way from my chest. I walked towards Ferguson and he held me up tenderly under his arm as he escorted me to the car. I was in a state of pure shock, of unadulterated fear and the only thing I could feel was the spinning of the Earth beneath my feet. As our beloved driver opened the back door of the Jaguar my knees gave way and grief washed over me. He caught me just as my bum nearly grazed the cement. With hands under my arms he lifted me until I stumbled myself onto the cool tan leather seat and fell back. I was barely breathing.

"They're takin' Mr. Holmes to Saint Bart's. My protocols are to take you to the country house, lass." he told me from the front seat. I jumped up then.

"No! Take me to Saint Bart's!" I ordered. Ferguson's silver brows quivered as he looked torn. I found my hand reaching for his shoulder.

"I don't care how bad off he is. I want to be there. If he hasn't much time I want to... to have the chaplain marry us... please?" I begged, my voice circling into hysteria and my hiccups and tears forming in my throat and eyes. My big watery green eyes did him in, and with a perturbed sigh we continued on the route to the hospital. I was forcing every cell in my body to hold it together, my calve muscles shaking with spasms, my hands worrying the skirt of my burgundy dress.

The car had not completely stopped, still slowing at the curb when I flung the door open and stepped out quickly so as not to lose my footing. I was certain I'd get an earful from Ferguson later, but in the moment nothing mattered. Arms crossed over my middle that felt as though it were being sliced open and all of my organs ripped out, I walked coldly to the front desk. The lady behind the computer in scrubs didn't appear entirely sympathetic, but quickly I told her I was the fiancé of Mycroft Holmes, and that he should have been recently admitted. A few clicks and she informed me he was in the O.R. and that I'd have to wait for the attending. Thus began the most agonizing and long hours of torturous Hell I'd ever experienced in my life. My childhood abuse paled in comparison to what I endured now.

After the first few hours, I could barely sit on the little couch in the waiting area, so I was leaned over with my legs tucked over to me. My temple rested on the wall and I stared unblinking at the blank walls. My mind thought of my last words to him, the last things I said. I'd barely wanted to utter "Love you", I was so angry. I'd gone from our home angry, I'd stayed away from our home angry, I'd fled as soon as I saw him... angry. I should have said it, "I love you, Mycroft Holmes." My anger should have never made me say it any differently. Tears pricked my eyes again. I would go over it in my head for hours, praying and praying for Mycroft as I hadn't prayed since I was a little girl.

His phone had somehow survived the explosion, in his breast pocket and in a special case. A kind nurse brought it to me and as soon as I looked at the screen I understood why. I was on it, a picture of me lying on the black leather couch in Sherlock and John's flat. Rosie was dozing happily on my chest, and a beam of light danced across my face and her plump pink cheek. He had been in the middle of texting me the photo, with a message:

I look at you and see my future. I see you holding our child, how you glow in pregnancy. Utterly beautiful, a woman with an entire universe comprising her soul...".

I fell apart, clutching my middle, doubling over and letting out a hysterical sob. How would I carry on if I lost him? I'd just found happiness, I'd just survived the very worst that life could dish out at me. I hadn't made it this far to only lose everything. My chest was heaving, my throat was clogged and I was gasping for breath. My tears fell soaking my skirt and nothing mattered, the looks of passersby, the hysteria of my sobs. All that I could feel in this moment was the crippling pain.


	59. Chapter 59

I had finally calmed down a bit, ceased my sobs enough to feel the intense wrenching in my gut and aching in my chest, when finally a nurse came through the doors from the OR and sought me out. I was on my feet in seconds, rushing to her with what drops of energy remained within me. Her face was a blur, the moments dragging too slow as she told me I could go and see him. I followed her deafly, preparing myself for the horrors. I was going over it all in my head, how bad it could be, how he might have escaped with no harm. All I wanted was for him to be okay, Was he in pain? He wouldn't like being on drugs, having them effect his beautiful brain.

We stopped just before a door, and she gestured for me to go inside. My feet were heavy and I was already pitching on hysteria again as I approached the darkened room, the light above the bed glowing. Machines beeped, tubes hissed, and my breathing was sudden and sharp. I was crying again, those gut wrenching sobs racking me anew. My Mycroft, my fiancé lay there in bandages with none of his perfect face or hair visible. It was bad, he was so hurt, broken and smashed and burned.

Falling to my knees at his bedside I clasped his hand in mine and in a split second I knew. I did not hold the hand of Mycroft Holmes.

Call it what you will, but I believe that intuition is God's gift to women for us to know when something isn't right. Gut feelings are the universe trying to tell us something, something we should already know. Perhaps we all have a little witch in us, more than just the stuff of stories. Either way, I knew this wasn't him. And in seconds I snapped back to reality, my mind racing on new paths. The relief it brought me allowed new clarity in my mind. Where as my beloved if not here? Were his suits specially designed to withstand bombs and bullet wounds? Now that I thought on it, I realized it would make perfect sense.

That lead me to my next thought, for some reason my darling Mycroft wanted everyone, even me, to truly believe he was in the hospital. I needed to play this carefully, get out, and regroup. I needed a plan, tactics, something. I brought out some of my acting skills to cry harder, because I had no idea who might be watching and at this point I had to protect my beloved. I stood there for what I imagined was a long enough moment, touching the bandages on this poor man. I played my part as dutifully as I could.

"Oh God I can't. I can't see him like this!" I sobbed and ran out of the room. The nurse looked forlorn and pitied me. Good. I was convincing. I very nearly ran out of the front doors of St. Bart's when a thought occurred to me. Who could I actually trust at such a pinnacle moment? Ferguson had been so set on taking me to the country home, and then obliged when I demanded he take me to the hospital. What if he was not the trusted chauffeur I believed him to be, but was instead a traitor? And if I actually got into the car he'd kidnap me? If he thought Mycroft was really in hospital, as Mycroft seemed to want everyone to believe, then why suggest taking me anywhere but here?

Glancing around, a ball cab sporting the Cubs logo caught my eye, laying forgotten on one of the waiting room chairs. My brain worked quickly, recalling those spy movies I'd seen and the smutty secret agent books I'd read. Head high and feigning confidence I snatched the hat and had it on my head and my hair tucked inside of it in seconds. I kept my gait as I exited out of the door labor and delivery on the opposite end of the hospital. My eyes scanned the streets until I found a cab.

Quickly I told the driver the address on Mayfair. I could regroup at our town home. I was making a mental plan as we veered around traffic down the busy London streets. Lestrade might be in his office, tracking the source of the Baker Street bombing. I'd change clothes and grab what I needed before going down to Scotland Yard. We could track down the boys together and bring them back. Wherever they might be.

I paid my fare and bolted in the door, leaning my back against it for a moment, heaving a deep sigh to calm my nerves. I tossed my hat off and flew up the stairs to the bedroom, taking them two at a time and stumbling around the bannister as I rounded the corner and raced down the hall. My burgundy dress was tossed to the floor and I snatched a pair of jeans and a solid black t-shirt that probably cost more than a t-shirt ever should. I tossed my hair up into a messy bun and slid on my gray converse. From there I began searching though our nightstand drawers. That's where I found a glock, I was tucking it in the back of my jeans waistband and pulling on a black leather jacket. I'd never held nor shot a gun, but I figured if necessary I'd just point and shoot. My aim was probably terrible so no one would die but they'd sure think twice.

Then I heard the front door open, and realized I'd made a huge mistake and left it unlocked.


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay everyone! More traction. I am hard at work I promise. I just want to give you guys my best work.

I felt my breathing coming in sharp spasms and quieted them as best as I could. I held it in as I covered my mouth with my hand. With my left I reached for the waist band of my jeans and felt the cold metal of the Glock I'd tucked back there. My steps were dead silent as I traveled the hardwoods to the staircase. Around the corner I glanced down to see my assailant. I was shaking and holding firm, trying to keep my fear in check. Moments that define us. This moment would be different, I'd be ready, brave. I turned off my emotions as best as I could.

As I glanced around the corner I saw a familiar hair color and uniform of a woman in dark blue. In her hands she held a bucket of cleaning supplies and various other items. My hand moved instantly away from the gun handle and I breathed a deep sigh of relief. I had acquainted myself with the staff pretty well over my time of living with Mycroft. This was Kitty, a large woman from Chicago that made the dust run for cover when she came in the door. She hadn't noticed me at the landing yet, so I made myself known by taking the remaining steps down to meet her.

"Oh Kitty you scared me half to death. Look I-" but the moment she looked up it wasn't Kitty. It wasn't even a woman. Dead, hollow brown eyes locked with mine, a malicious smile curved the man's lips. He looked dangerous, and the thrill of killing came off of him in waves. He liked beating little girls like me. I began backing up the stairs, and tripped on one of them but righted myself immediately by grabbing the bannister. I was waiting for him to make his move, his arms and shoulders large and bulky, I'd have to run. I was watching him carefully and mapping a mental escape plan. My mind felt like slow moving sludge, but eventually I began reaching behind me for the Glock.

Before I could blink he pulled out his own hand gun and shot past me, the bullet shattering the drywall with a quiet bang, a long tube on the end of the barrel I recognized as a silencer. Fear set in then. But I also couldn't help but wonder why he didn't just shoot me point blank? No, he needed me alive. I considered my options and just as I went to turn and run, he was on me. The man moved like a specialist, quick for someone so large and I immediately began fighting as I felt his hands on my forearms. I was kicking and pushing with all of my strength, attempting to stop him by slamming him into the bannister. But I wasn't strong enough.

He let out a dark laugh and quickly jerked one of my arms behind my back. I squealed out in pain and tried to use my feet then. I kicked around and flailed, searching for his groin or shin, knowing if I could just make contact he might let me go, or loosen his grip just long enough for me to bolt out of his reach. A thick rough hand grasped me high up on my throat and slammed me into the wall just beside the bullet hole. My feet were hanging, the toes of my converse struggling to find purchase on the slick hardwood floors. Panic began to set in as I tried to breathe and tear my nails at his hands. I didn't even leave a scratch.

I could breathe a little bit though, he wasn't quite choking me. Not like Jackson Montgomery had, with vigor and purpose, intent on ending my life. This was different. He was choking off my blood to my brain and my vision was faltering. I kept my hands wrapped around his wrists, wrenching and wrenching with everything I had. But then, it was like I was slipping, so easy and relaxing, less effort than falling asleep. My body slumped and I fell fast asleep, dreaming this demented man had dropped me on the stairs and left me there. Unconscious for hours. Mycroft would be coming home soon...


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay my lovelies! I’m sorry for the tease with the chapter I posted then deleted. I was really REALLY unhappy with it! It was forced and you guys deserve so much better. So I’m on a roll now (I hope... fingers crossed) please enjoy!

Waking up, coming to, was not near as gentle as falling into that deep sleep had been. It was not with a heaving sigh, but with a start. My eyes fluttered, my heart skipped beats, racing towards something, and shivers racked my body. My head ached a bit, my entire body felt like I'd been in a brutal fight. Then I recalled that I had. Reality had escaped me in my state of unconsciousness. I immediately forced my eyes open, tried to steady my breathing and took in my surroundings.

The room was small and empty, dank and smelled like a hospital. Sterile and cold, slate gray walls like a prison, the room was entirely empty it seemed. My arms felt squished and compressed, warm and trapped down beside my torso. That's when I realized I was trapped within the confines of a straight jacket. I jerked violently and instinctively against my bonds and then felt a pinching, pulling sensation in my neck on the left side. It caused my motions to still instantly. When I looked beside me I noticed and IV machine. My eyes widened and panic shot through me. I was immobile, my feet clamped to the tiny metal chair. I was helpless and connected to god knew what kind of liquid.

I was terrified for several reasons, the first and foremost being that I had no idea what had happened to me while I was unconscious. I had lost time, and I had no idea how much of it. It could have been days or hours and it was unnerving. I didn't know who my assailant had been, where I was nor why. My mind then immediately ventured to Mycroft, and I wondered where he was. Was he safe? Would he be bursting in with MI6 and his warm coat as he had so long ago when the Phantom had taken me? The daunting thought that dawned on me next was that he might be hurt or trapped too, and that I might be totally and utterly alone.

Suddenly a noise from the wall in front of me caused my head to shoot up and focus all of my attentions. A panel of sorts seemed to be sliding out of the way to reveal a screen. The picture was lines of black and white, blurring to become gray fuzz. It was after that, I heard a voice. It was distinctively female, and yet some part of it was chilling. The voice was intelligent, much like Mycroft's but also, it sounded bored and robotic.

"I have some context... to urge your participation in this little experiment Mycroft. I shall provide you with some evidence. _Where thou goest, I will go. Where thou lodgest, I will lodge. They people shall be my people._. Such a silly thing to say big brother. I always thought... you found religion uninteresting." Eurus said.

In that exact moment both Sherlock and John turned to Mycroft. Shock was evident on both their faces as they took in his pallor. He looked horrified, stunned, and his face was ashen and confused. John had his brows knitted together as he recounted Eurus' clue and absorbed its biblical meaning. Sherlock, however, had already worked out this was a reference to Charlotte. She was his brother's newest pressure point, and as he knew her middle name the connotations were clear. The screen blinked and where once was the sallow girl with wide blue eyes and dark waves of hair, there was now an auburn haired girl, with terrified green eyes, sealed within a straight jacket with an IV in her neck.

"Eurus this is quite enough!" Mycroft shouted. My heart kick started in my chest as the screen cleared and before me was my beloved. Tears filled my eyes when I saw him, his perfect navy suit, the cyan colored tie and pocket handkerchief. He was whole, in one piece, not a hair out of place on that perfect dark red head. Then it struck me how utterly distraught he appeared and I knew he could see me too. I wanted to call out to him, but the needle in my neck would shift every time I swallowed and I wasn't sure he could even see me.

I felt my heart breaking and cracking for him, as I looked him over as many times as I could. Eurus Holmes, the file I'd found in Mycroft's office. It came to me in perfect clarity in that moment. She was playing a sick and twisted game with all of us. And Mycroft would blame himself, I could see he did already, especially because now I was involved. He was so pale, so shaken, and I knew he was utterly out of control, the thing he feared more than anything else in this world. To see my knight fall was the hardest thing I'd ever witnessed, and I felt so much of me shattering inside. I knew he needed to be focused, all of his energy on keeping Sherlock and John safe, and I would be a distraction if he knew how hopeless and defeated I felt.

I lifted my chin and locked my jaw, attempting to look braver than I felt. Mycroft's eyes widened as he saw me put on a brave face. John clicked his heels together and gave me a military salute that nearly put a grin on my face. I had to be brave for these men, for my family. My love, Mycroft my heart.

In that second there was a beeping noise of the IV machine beside me coming to life. I stared horrified as liquid began filling the tube to the major artery of my neck. My arms being immobile didn't help as panic filled me and my breathing became erratic, short and sharp.


	62. Chapter 62

Eurus' voice came over the speakers again loud and clear, the screen clearing me of seeing Mycroft anymore.

"As you'll notice, your pet Charlotte is connected to an IV. Instead of a saline solution I have her connected to a heroin dosage. I have the drip timed to specifications but I predict given her weight and body mass she will overdose within approximately four hours. If you solve all of the puzzles I will let her go." Eurus said, her voice still matter-of-fact and almost saccharine sweet.

I lost it and started screaming then, my voice cracking as I cried, "No please! Please stop this!" I begged, noting that my life was very much in danger. But no one could hear me, no one at all. As the drugs hit my bloodstream I began to feel like I was screaming with no voice, like I could feel the strain on my vocal cords but no sound would escape. It was like screaming under water, and the fear of drowning was making my head dizzy. Then, I realized that was probably the drugs. It was nothing I'd experienced before, because sure I'd snuck alcohol as a young Southern Belle, I'd casually drank as an adult, in college I'd even tried weed. But hard drugs? After seeing what it had done to Kendrick I'd sworn it off.

"We are running out of time, Sherlock!" Mycroft said, frustrated and nerves wracked. He bit his thumb, various nervous habits surfacing under the pressure of knowing Charlotte was being drugged as ever second ticked by. It was torturous, cruel and he could not help but feel anxious as his little brother worked out the Final Problem. It was agony, wanting nothing more than to see her, to stop what was happening to her. When he closed his eyes, he braced her in his arms and held her close, smelled her hair and felt the beating of her wild heart against his bare skin. His beloved Charlotte did not deserve this.

That was why, when it came time for Sherlock to choose him or John, he tried valiantly to make him take Mycroft's life. Mycroft took full blame, acknowledged he had been the source of all their trials. Weighing the odds he also deduced that should he die in John's stead, Eurus would very little cause to keep drugging his beloved. Charlotte could be released and sent to a recovery rehabilitation center. He had already ensured she would be cared for, should ever his time with her be cut short. It was all plain and simple, and in perfect clarity as he stared down the face of the gun, pointed at him by his baby brother. His only regret would be leaving this world without touching her, hearing her breathe one last time.

I wasn't sure what was happening, I barely knew who or where I was anymore. All I knew was that the drugs were burning through me and my heart was beating so out of sync it felt like it was trying to destroy itself, like black toxic sludge was forcing its way through my arteries. I had believed so hard that Mycroft would come to my rescue. So it struck me as odd when the screen before me fired to life again to show Eurus shouting. She kept saying the words 'no' and 'Sherlock', but I felt like I was drowning and I couldn't comprehend the distress in her words.

That's when something sharp snapped the base of my skull where my messy bun was still exposing part of my neck. I nearly rolled my eyes as I felt sleep over taking me, thinking "Oh great... more... drugs...". Panic and sleep were warring within me, and try as I might I couldn't fight my lids falling over my eyes. But I didn't want to lose more time, I didn't want to lose Mycroft, or Sherlock or John. I wanted to go home... and ride horses with my fiancé, and plan our wedding just as I had dreamed about when I was a young girl. But this was it. I was certain I was dying this time, the sick game was over.


	63. Chapter 63

There were some things in life that I was very certain of. I never thought I'd be _that_ girl. The one in need of rescuing, because after all, had I not risen from the ashes of my own accord? I thought I'd never be kidnapped and tortured like some tragic girl on daytime TV. But, when that happened I was certain it would never happen for a second time, so certain in fact, that it never crossed my mind it might happen again in my lifetime. It wasn't a fear because it didn't exist further past the day Mycroft rescued me. I was also fairly certain that the previous kidnapping and torture would by a stretch be the absolute worst incident to occur to me. Ever. But too often, the things we are most certain of, the things we know in our hearts to be true, are the things we end up being most wrong about.

_"Charlotte..."_

_"Charlotte..."_

_"Charlotte!_

A voice was shouting at me, one I knew. It was deep, but it was loud right in my ear and I don't think I'd ever imagined how that particular voice might sound when it was raised under pressure. I was still confined and had yet to open my eyes. It could not have been healthy for any human to have been knocked out as many times as I had been lately. My head was pounding, felt as though it were splitting and like my eyes might pop from my skull. I lifted my hands to cradle my head... and that's when I realized I'd regained control of my limbs. I kicked my feet back and forth to test the binds and realized while I was in a very small, dark, confined space, I was free. I think I must have groaned aloud because the voice was back. 

"Charlie... do you know where you are?" Sherlock asked, his voice in my head.

"I'm in a well, Sherlock, that's where I'm at. I'm down a well." a voice said, again directly in my left ear.

"Hush now John. I need to know, is Mycroft with either of you?" Sherlock asked, and I could hear the laced panic in his voice. At the mention of his name, realizing his was the one voice I had yet to have heard my eyes shot open. It was very dark where I was, and very cold. I tried to sit up, because I realized I was turned over on my side, but there wasn't enough room. I could make out white satin lining the walls in front of me and the surface I lay on. I could feel empty space behind me and thought I'd try to roll over. The space was so still and confined my breathing didn't resonate but stopped short as soon as it left my lips. When I rolled over without moving across the white satin beneath me, a scream escaped me that would later be described as nothing short of pure macabre horror.

The figure beside me was one I thought I'd never see again, and this wasn't how I imagined our reunion. She looked like she was sleeping, her strawberry blonde hair dull and not shiny like I remembered it at all. Make up still covered the scars of her horrible murder, caked on to cover the butchering of her porcelain face. She was wearing the blue tea length dress she'd bought last. I touched her hand because I couldn't help myself, hoping it was a trick. But it was ice cold, and I jerked my hand away immediately, pressing my back to the walls and covering a scream with my hand.

Panic set in right after that. It felt like those satin lined walls were holding me in, closing in on me. It wasn't long before spinning took its toll, and I was whirling around in that pine box. I wondered how far below ground I was, what part of the planet I was on. Terror vibrated from my bones and made my skin quiver and ripple across me. Sobs ripped through me as I covered my mouth, and the more I cried the heavier my chest felt. Breath became harder to force in and out. My hope, my will to live was stripped away in those seconds, knowing I'd rather die than be buried alive. I had nothing, nothing left.

"Where are you, can you escape?" Sherlock's voice came through again. I brought my hand up to my ear, keeping my eyes closed tight. I had an ear piece, John and Sherlock must have had one as well and we were all connected. I should have felt immense relief but instead I felt dread, because this meant we were still playing Eurus' sick game. And my beloved Mycroft, he was missing. Would she have killed him for locking her away? My stomach turned over at the thought and I gave in to soul shaking sobs.

Sherlock could hear the water rushing into the well, could hear John grunting and fighting to keep his head above water. He could hear Charlotte Montgomery's desperate cries of despair, her shaking breaths of terror. He estimated she now had less than an hour before the coffin was devoid of the oxygen she consumed. He could hear the frightened little girl on the plane, the one heading directly towards London. He could hear the song, " _I that am lost, oh who will find me? Deep down below, the old beech tree...Help succor me now, the East Wind blows...Sixteen by Six brother and under we go..._ The song is the answer, the song is the answer.

This was not a choice he could make, the consequences dire for either one. If the plane crashed in the city, thousands might die. If he let John drown... he himself would die. If Charlotte Montgomery lost her life, Mycroft... He ran his hands down his cheek bones and felt the seconds ticking by as he looked around, reading the gravestones. For only a moment, the names blurred to reflect those of Dr. Watson, Mycroft Holmes and Charlotte Ruth Montgomery. He shook his head violently. No, he needed to go into his mind palace. Too much sentiment.


	64. Chapter 64

For a moment, the heroin gave me strength and a delusion of immortality. As a latch ditch effort I kicked the lid of that coffin as hard as I could, feeling the lid pop just enough to let in a shower of earth on its edges. I screamed, loudly and clearly as panic set in again and with my bare hands I attempted to claw myself out from the treacherous coffin. The satin tore loudly as my fingers clawed it and then I was attempting to cut through the wood. I wasn't strong enough though, my soft girlish fingers cutting and gathering splinters with each desperate swipe. I was becoming desperate, my breathing so short and shallow. I started to believe this was really how I would die, alone beside the corpse of a friend I loved dearly. I was hoping and praying I would just black out and slip off without another dark and demented thought. As my fingers bled all the fight left me and I shivered from the heroin as it turned my brain to further mush, I was slipping.

Mycroft tore through the woods to Musgrave Hall, his mind working diligently as he separated the sentiment from reality. In this moment he was putting his barely accessible trust in Sherlock to save John as he needed to seek out his Ruth. The funny gravestones that Sherlock played amongst as a child appeared as the dilapidated home stood ominously in the distance, shrouded by half moon light. The memories flooded him anew and he felt his chest cave. He could still see it burning now, see Eurus being hauled away and poor Sherlock, the mess of curls and dark eyes filled with hurt and despair. It was then he heard the scream that stopped his heart and caused every cell in his body to come alive with raw fire and pain. Charlotte.

His eyes scanned the perimeter just as he heightened his hearing and saw the loose dirt shift, so insignificant as if nothing more than the wind had disturbed it. But he knew better. In his expensive three piece suit he hit the soil and began digging and throwing it aside with his bare hands. Eurus had her hidden below the ground, just as Mycroft had hidden his own little sister below ground. It was a vengeance and retribution, and he began calculating the hours and capacity for air. Charlotte was running out of time. With new vigor he dug harder and deeper, paying no acknowledgement to the sirens in the distance or the flashing lights. Sweat poured from his brow as tears streaked his face, for in this moment his body became automatic and bullet proof, but his eyes could not turn themselves off as he cried out his fear and longing for his beloved, darling girl. 

"What're you doing?" a voice asked as a blinding light scanned over the piles of dirt and the filthy man digging into it as if his very life depended on it.

Mycroft did not answer, did not acknowledge the presence of Lestrade as he kept his pace, pulling dirt and weeds and filth from the ground. 

"Mycroft!" the voice shouted finally.

"Damn you find some shovels or stay the hell away Detective Inspector!" Mycroft answered. Lestrade was taken aback as his mouth fell open and he nearly stumbled back. Mycroft's voice did not sound like his own. There was no control, no calm and perfectly calculated speech. His stoic nonchalance was replaced with emotions, raw and untamed emotions. The aristocratic tone was cracked and jagged, the words loud and panicked as it had never been hard by anyone before. Lestrade then backed away and searched the parameter for a garden shed or long forgotten cellar door that might lead him to some tools for digging. 

I couldn't die but I was begging for it. The drugs would hit me in waves as I would hallucinate of monsters and terrible things, blood an murders. I relived my every worst nightmare down there in that tomb. I couldn't cry anymore, my body had nothing left and air was becoming short. My head felt light and foggy, my vision blurring and the edges of my eyes becoming dark and distant. I didn't want to look at Kat anymore so I closed them and prayed for death. I just wanted to leave my body, leave this hole in the ground and sleep like I did when I was a child away from my hell of a home. I was giving up, something I swore I'd never do. As my desperate pleas for the mercy of death left my lips, a thud hit the top of the coffin and I jumped. Was I hallucinating again? Had I gone so insane I was now going to dream of my rescue? See it so vividly as I waited for me entire life to flash before my eyes? 

The hard sound of the shovels hitting the wooden box brought Mycroft the most intense of warring emotions. He was elated to have found her, but when they opened that lid he did not know what he might do if she was no longer alive. They were four feet below the ground and with new urgency he slung more mud and dirt from the ground. Lestrade matched his vigor, huffing and out of breath to keep up with the mad man with the shovel beside him. The detective inspector would forever recall this as the night he saw the Ice Man not melt, but shatter to something unrecognizable. A man in love, a man about to lose it all. 

Three piece suit caked in filth he lunged himself down the grave and forced his long leg on its edge, pushing more dirt to fit beside the tiny pine box. What he saw when he opened that lid would bring him nightmares and torment for years to come, a raw sob retching from his gut and leaving his lips like the roar of a wounded lion.


	65. Chapter 65

A cool night breeze hit my face and I thought for a moment if maybe I opened my eyes I'd see stars. But, I wouldn't do it, because I knew I'd be disappointed to find I still hadn't died. I was still wide awake in that coffin next to Kat. I felt hands on my arms, hands that were long fingered and warm, but caked in something wet and cold, the smell of damp earth in my nose. Perhaps, I was finally dying and I was imaging Mycroft in my final moment. It gave my heart such peace and calm settled over me, that I grinned slightly in the dark. A finger touched my jaw and dug into the soft spot beneath it. I finally heard that sweet voice.

"There's a pulse!" Mycroft shouted to Lestrade, his flashlight grazing over Mycroft's back where he knealt over Charlotte Ruth Montgomery. 

I was pulled up by strong hands behind my shoulders to sit up and I flinched to brace myself for the impact of the coffin's lid. But it never came.

"Please, please Ruth my darling open you eyes!" his voice pleaded, hoarse with tears and pain, true and unimaginable pain. My eyes shot open then as I took in that odd nose, the aristocratic face and darkened red hair. His eyes were wet, tears creating paths in the mud on his cheeks and so blue in color, blinding like sapphires on display with the royal crown jewels. My fingers brushed his cheeks as I laughed, a hysterical hiccup of a giggle, the sound grating like a rusty knife. Mycroft looked alarmed and frightened that I'd made such a sound and didn't smile at me. His fingers touched my hair and he embraced me then, long arms caging me against his chest like rag doll, because I could not hold him back. I was dead, after all. He rocked me a moment as he sobbed, his voice strained like he was trying to scream as his shoulders shook me from his desperate cries. He dotted my face with kisses, his tears falling onto my skin like rain as I closed my eyes and he kissed my lids.

After a moment, Mycroft looked up at Lestrade, "Help me get her out of here." he commanded and the detective reached for the girls arms. He pulled her out, heaving her lax body from the hole. In one swift motion Mycroft followed suit, with no regard for the dirt staining his suit legs as his knees pressed the mud further into the fabric. Lestrade was holding her against his chest, her hysterical chuckles in his ears and her body practically vibrating against him. It tugged his heart strings more than most of the cases he'd seen in his years at Scotland Yard. The poor girl had been buried alive, sharing the coffin with the girl he had been forced to arrest Charlotte over the murder of. He couldn't fathom the terror, the sheer claustrophobia she had endured for an immeasurable amount of hours.

It all felt too real for me, the embrace of Lestrade and the flashing lights in the distance. I was shivering and as I continued to laugh, high pitched and maniacal Mycroft's arms were around me again. He held me up a moment and then pulled away to look into my eyes. He appeared startled and pained, his face showing more emotion and feelings than I'd ever witnessed in my time of knowing him. His fingers lifted my chin, forcing me to focus on those serious beautiful eyes.

"I am truly here, my darling. You are safe now." he whispered, and I felt the conviction of those words in my very soul, deep within a part of me that was only known spiritually. My hysterical laughter died in that exact millisecond and I inhaled sharply. I grasped his lapels tight in my fists and tugged in desperation, clawing at him as if I could crawl into his skin. My chest caved and fresh hot tears fell, and a sound like a wounded animal tore from my stomach and out of my throat. I cried then, I cried and cried with no signs of stopping as I grasped him and he blurred from my vision, coming into it again when my tears fell and then blurring all over again. I was shaking and my cries were near screams of pain and gladness that he had saved me. That's when my vision blacked and my head felt light, lighter than it had been in the coffin. I fell onto him, passing out from overwhelming emotion and gratitude. 

Mycroft caught her as she finally gave out onto him, and he heaved a sigh of relief. Her hysteria had him terrified and she would be easier to care for once he had her home. His muscles were on fire and he was exhausted from digging, but even still he picked her up bridal style and kissed her forehead gingerly, hoping to erase the small crease still lingering between her brows. Desperately he wanted to erase her terrors that would surely bring on a surge of nightmares. The jaguar had arrived with his most trusted driver, Ferguson and without a word he made his way towards it.

"She needs a hospital, Mycroft!" Lestrade called after him.

"Take care of Sherlock and John Watson." he answered, not raising his voice so that Lestrade nearly missed the command. The Detective Inspector ran his hand over the back of his head letting it rest on his neck. He heaved a frustrated and frankly bewildered sigh before turning to the other sergeants and divvying out orders and tasks.


	66. Chapter 66

Over the next few days of my recovery, I would learn an entirely new meaning to the word ‘intimacy’. Because, to many, myself included, intimacy is the skin to skin bond between two people that allows them solace and comfort in the arms of another. Intimacy is a comfort, touches and security shared soul to soul with another living being. And for so many reasons, I had associated my intimacy with Mycroft in the bedroom, or wherever we decided to make love. But now I know that word has a different meaning, one less superficial with more depth than the world’s oceans.

I knew we were back at the country house, and I was in the bed we had shared on our weekends together. The sheets were twisted, a dim light on the bedside table. I wore a navy tailored button down with the sleeves rolled up. My body was jerking violently from withdrawals, as my mind feigned for something to ease its pain. Sweat soaked me from hairline to toes, my stomach convulsing with the rest of my body. My skin was on fire, every nerve alive and frayed, pain and want deep in my bones like a cancer. And Mycroft, my beloved Mycroft sat beside me on that bed and struggled to hold my convulsing, trembling form. But as his arms embraced me, firmly and yet not like the restraint of a strait jacket, that was not the most intimate moment we shared.

As I lay with my head in his lap, I continued to pour sweat. My hair was a mess and the weight of it made me warmer, causing my nausea to double. It was then I felt those long, gentle fingers in my hair, pulling it away from my face. My eyes closed in consolation and I tried to gain some control of my breathing. I heard the snap of a ponytail holder and found Mycroft had adeptly braided my hair back and away from my face. It baffled me he knew this particular skill, but it also brought me so much peace I could physically feel the seams of my heart straining with the expansion of my love for him.

It had been many hours since I’d used the restroom, and I needed to go badly. I pulled away from Mycroft and crossed my legs as the overwhelming need to relieve myself came over me. Thighs locked together I struggled to the edge of the bed, unsure if my body would allow me to stand and make the long trek to the spacious master bathroom. As ever, Mycroft was aware of my needs without a word from me, and before I could force myself off of my knees I was once again in his arms like a child. Tears sprang to my eyes, because I was partially humiliated to be so incapacitated, but also overwhelmingly relieved he could do these things, read my mind and understand my needs.

My cheeks touched the cold porcelain, and Mycroft knelt before me, his hand on my waist holding me steady. I braced my palm on his shoulder and focused on his face. It was stoic as ever, but not a hint of disgust or discomfort lay in his eyes, in the set of his lips. As ladylike as possible in this predicament I relieved myself and began reaching for the roll of toilet paper. Mycroft took my outstretched hand in his and pulled it to his lips, soft and yielding against the back of my palm as his eyes closed in a mixture of passion and pain, a pucker between his brows and a breath exhaling from his nose. Tears filled my eyes as I watched his pain, touching his brow with my hand that had rested on his shoulder, and for a moment I forgot all about sitting on that toilet and the withdrawals my body continued to endure.

With a wet wipe he’d procured from a nearby surface, he wiped me clean, and upon lifting me from the toilet flushed it with the toe of his shoe. I locked my arms around his neck as he carried me to the bed, my body reaching the mattress just as my convulsions overcame me again. His expression was pained, but I could also tell he was trying to keep his mask in place, as he pulled me into his lap and began rocking me. His warm, strong arms embraced me firmly as I buried my face in his chest, crying big fat tears. I just wanted to stop, my body in so much pain I thought it might kill me. I craved a moment of stillness and calm within myself. It seemed it might never come.

In moments, footfalls could be heard on the staircase leading to the bedroom of the country house. Sherlock’s steps were light as he took the stairs two at time, John’s less so as he squeaked about in still damp shoes. Mycroft did not rise from the bed where he held me, and though I’d rather not be seen in such a state, I recalled John Watson had seen me nude and Sherlock was, well Sherlock. Mycroft tenderly kissed my head and placed his hand on my cheek to hide my red and puffy tear-soaked face.

He put his lips against my ear and whispered, “I am going to entrust you to Dr. Watson’s care. I shall be close at hand.” He told me tenderly and nodding my head he relinquished my form from his lap and stepped away, looking as if it nearly broke him in half to do so. Dr. Watson gave me a sad smile as he opened a medical kit and pulled on gloves, looking me over balancing on the balls of his feet just in front of where my legs hung over the edge of the bed. Quietly he flashed a light across my pupils, checked my blood pressure, took my temperature and inspected my fingers where I’d tried to claw my way from the top of the coffin. It was when he pulled a needle from his bag that I reflexively jerked away.

“It’s a mild sedative to help you sleep.” He explained, and immediately I turned my frightened eyes to Mycroft. My handsome knight ran his hand over his furrowed brow and looked down, then fixated his eyes on Dr. Watson.

“There must be some kind of medication she can have orally.” Was his stern response.

“I have something, but it’s much weaker and the pills will have a delayed release versus the injection.” Dr. Watson said, his gaze returning to mine.

“She would prefer that. Thank you, Dr. Watson.” Mycroft spoke, and I nodded my head in agreement. It was a comfort that I need not speak, I was not ready to, so to be so understood and so connected was a beautiful gift of heavenly light in my darkest hours.

Mycroft stood on the veranda over looking the south gardens and pool. It had been a most trying evening and he desperately had needed the neat single malt in his hand. He took a long drag from his cigarette and attempted to exhale his woes and troubles into the night air. Charlotte's withdrawals had finally worn her to the point of exhaustion, and with water and Dr. Watson's sedative she at last slept in his bed. She was upstairs, she was near, she was safe. Arms braced on the wrought iron banister, he relived every moment of her capture. He relived again every moment of torturous experimentation he, Sherlock and John Watson had suffered. When at last he'd broken free of that cell in Sherrinford, his worry had only pitched. Would he find her? And when he did what condition would he find her in?

He believed in Charlotte Ruth Montgomery fiercely, as he had never believed in another human being in all of his years of life. As such, he was striving to convince himself she would stabilize mentally, emotionally. She had endured so much and yet had kept her light shining into the world. But what if this was the end? What if this was the final catastrophe that leveled her beautiful city, snuffed out her precious light? Exhaustion and sentiment overtook him then. Mycroft felt as if he were trying to dislodge broken glass from his very own chest. It was as if the harder he pulled to extract the shards the more it shredded the muscles of his heart along the way.

Sherlock had caught the scent of the cigarette from the open veranda doors and caught the moonlight illuminated outline of Mycroft. For a long moment he had watched his elder brother care for and console Charlotte. He knew the symptoms of withdrawal well, the sweating, vomiting, convulsions. And Mycroft had merely embraced her, stroking her hair and trying to provide some comfort and stability. But for a moment, Mycroft wasn't holding Charlotte any longer in Sherlock's eyes. Instead he saw the man holding Sherlock, many years ago in a doss house. Sherlock was far more bone thin than he was today, his curls would bounce with tremors so violent he thought he might break his own bones. And the list, the agreed upon list always in his hand to give to his elder brother.

Sherlock chose this moment to approach his brother, and very carefully he lay his thin pale hand over Mycroft's shoulder and whispered, "I'm... sorry.". It was the sincerest apology he had issued since that Christmas he'd harmed Molly Hooper with harsh words and a rather brash deduction. But he wasn't apologizing for anything in recent events, it was the past he wished to reconcile. Mycroft eyed him carefully, a moment of vulnerability reflecting in those ever icy eyes of his. Hesitantly, he lifted his hand, so unsure of the limits to their brotherly affection. His mind finally decided, and carefully he placed his hand over Sherlock's in a gesture of understanding. As he eyed his younger sibling, the child that had brought light to his world, he could not help but know that what he had done with Eurus and to protect Sherlock's mental health was forgiven the moment he tried to die so his brother would not lose John Watson.


	67. Chapter 67

The bedroom was dark and cool, and beside me Mycroft had finally slept. This entire ordeal had been just as traumatizing on him, Sherlock and John as it had been for me. His face was pulled into a tight grimace as I looked over at his curved nose and red lashes over his cheeks. Gingerly, I lifted my hand and ran it through the patch of hair across his forehead. The lines eased on his face, and tenderly as a breath I kissed that crease between his strained brows. I wanted him to know it would all be well, but I dared not wake him when at last he was sleeping. He needed it.

My bare feet made no sounds as I crossed the hardwood floor to the master bath, and silently holding the knob engaged I closed the door. I was pleased when I did not hear my beloved stir. Shedding his shirt, I approached the shower and turned the faucets to a soft rain setting and turned the heat up as high as it would go, steam emanating from the glass door seams. Carefully I undid my braided hair and stepped inside, walking the expanse of rock and tile to sit directly beneath the steaming stream. I heaved a deep heavy sigh and let out a cathartic sob along with it. I knew what I needed in this moment, but I needed to be alone. If you’ve never had the darkest day of your life and tried sitting in your shower floor to cry it all out, then you have no idea what you’re missing.

I hoped the hot water was opening my pores, I hoped my body was pushing out the toxins, I believed the water was washing away my pain, my misery, my trauma. I can’t be sure how long I sat there crying, but after a time, my chest felt lighter and my pain subsided. My muscles were weak but lax, and I knew I could stand. I shampooed and conditioned my hair, I scrubbed left over dirt and grime from my fingers and nail beds. With slow and steady strokes, I shaved everything from my armpits to my toes. And as I emerged from the shower, steam still billowing about me, I felt like myself again. Looking in the mirror I realized my eyes appeared haunted, and somehow, I looked more skinny in my collar bones and shoulders. I couldn’t fix that right now. So, I brushed my teeth vigorously, brushed my hair and tried to towel dry it. I didn’t want to awake Mycroft just yet.

On my side of the sink I used my favorite lotion and savored the feel of my own skin, soft and smooth and clean as I ran my hands over my body. I took my time massaging the creamy stuff into my toes and arches. I applied it generously to my knees and elbows, softening the dry and unpampered skin there. I dotted my face with some fancy and probably way over priced lotion Mycroft had bought me as a gift, and then found my black silk robe with kimono sleeves hemmed in lace. As I left the bathroom, turning off the light I felt like me again.

The room was dark and still, just as it had been before I had stepped away to gather myself. It was almost silent, save for the sound of Mycroft’s slow and steady breathing. I closed my eyes for a moment and listened. What peace it gave my heart to hear him just breathe, the essence of his existence had never been more precious to me than in this moment. I had nearly lost him, at the hands of his own brother, because of the sacrifice he was willing to make for those he loved. His own life. I nearly caved to my feet at the reminder but zoned in on his breath and remembered he was still here and he was still mine. Fiddling with the ring on my finger I crossed to the bed and crawled up on the soft sheets.

My pillow was clutched in his arms, pressed to his chest. His gorgeous face pressed against the fabric as he breathed in my scent with every breath. I suddenly found myself incredibly jealous of the inanimate pillow and gently tugged it from his grasp. Unfortunately, this task proved rigorous and he awoke just in time for me to crawl into his arms. Mycroft rolled onto his back and I lay on my side bracing myself on my forearm against his stomach. He didn’t speak as he ran his hand through my hair and cupped my face in his right hand. He breathed in deep from his nose and stared at me with those endless sapphire eyes. I laid my palm against his heartbeat and in the quiet whispered, “Hello, darlin’.”.

Slowly his hands gripped my waist and he effortlessly lifted me to sit across his lap. He continued to stare at me a long moment, before his long arm reached up and with his hand against my nape he pulled me down. Our lips were only a breath apart when he hesitated a moment, the satin of my robe sliding down my shoulder just a tad. I could taste the scotch and faint cigarette on his breath, and although some might think it killed the moment, it didn’t. On him the smell was sexy, mixing with the signature delightful smell of sandalwood and pine, the signature smell I associated with only Mycroft.

“I love you, my darling Charlotte Ruth… endlessly and without conditions.” He whispered to me, his brow furrowing with severity and sincerity of his words. My answer was the press of my lips to his, soft and yielding at first, then picking up with pressure and hunger as our tongues began caressing one another. I whimpered as his hands found mine, his palms pressing to my palms as he laced our fingers and began to sit up with his back against the pillow and headboard. I never lost my balance, our kiss remaining uninterrupted as we continued to breathe each other’s air, holding hands as we connected our souls from so much time apart.

I felt his hands then roaming over my torso, starting where my robe parted and revealed my belly, then up between my breasts as he bent his knees and I leaned back on his thighs.

“I nearly could not tell the difference between your skin and the satin of your dressing gown. I much prefer your soft and yielding flesh.” He said and I closed my eyes arching my back to allow him to remove the shred of clothing separating us. He was hesitant only a moment before I felt the material falling from my back and then it was tossed across the room. I lowered myself further against him by spreading my thighs and leaning down to kiss his chest and shoulders. I felt his length standing straight up and danced my rear against the substantial length, his lack of underwear sending tingles down my body. He groaned, and I sat up to massage my lips with his head.

Mycroft stopped me by placing his hands on my hips, and for a moment I was worried he would deny me. Instead, he slid down and lay his head on his pillow, lifting me to straddle his face. With a long and dexterous finger her caressed my opening and licked the liquid his finger accumulated. He placed his palms on my ass and softly kissed me between my legs, each kissing providing the slightest increase in pressure, but not yet devouring my throbbing clit. I was panting and gripping the headboard frame with white knuckled hands. The build up was delicious and torturous, I was aching and yet my arousal simply continued to build.

At last that expert tongue began working me, dancing and pulsing against me. His mouth was merciless as he kissed and played, moving against my bud in quick successions. I was quivering and convulsing against his lips, grinding against his mouth. His fingers caressed me from behind, his fingers dancing in my crease as I began gasping and moaning. I felt my climax coming quick, so close as I continued to grind against his skilled tongue, his sexy lips. As I began to jerk and scream erratically I felt him slide one long digit into my bum and it drove me over the edge, causing me to cum so hard my entire body convulsed with pleasure and ecstasy. It was a testament to the implicit trust I placed with him with my body.

I pulled back because despite being dizzy and lightheaded with the intensity of my orgasm, my body craved something more. He licked my juices from his lips, moaning in delight and his eyes closing as he did. He sat up to better position his throbbing head against my opening. My nose tip was pressed to his as I wrapped my arms around his neck and began to lower myself letting my weight pull me down. The contact, the fullness of him within me caused the hairs all over my body to stand on end as chill bumps dotted across me. As I took him deeper and further we both exhaled a breath of relief, as if we were finally home. For a moment, we stayed just like that, breathing one another’s breath and holding each other. I felt Mycroft tremble, he moved his hands over my arms to smooth out the chills.

My hand held the back of his head, his arm held my waist as I began stroking him with my walls, massaging his member as he slid in and out of me. With vigor I rolled my hips and rode him like I a wild and wanton creature born of lust and desire. This was more than incredible sex, I felt our souls dancing and I knew he felt it too. This connection was… inexplicable and beautiful. Neither of us lasted long, and in minutes I felt him place his palm against my belly, looking down to see where I slammed down onto his beautiful member.

“Oh Mycroft-!” I whimpered as suddenly my orgasm tore through me anew. He choked out a sound of pleasure and with his arm around me gripped me to him in an open mouthed kiss. I felt him firing into me, twitching and hardening, lengthening and giving me his all. I felt myself soaking him, our climaxes mixing within me as his eyes closed tight and his arms shuddered. He locked up as he continued to cum and I worked myself on him, drawing it out and taking all of him. I stilled at last and felt us shutter as one, pressing my forehead to his as we tried to catch our breath.

Exhausted and satisfied, he refused to pull out of me immediately, rolling me onto my back and running his fingers through my hair.

“You feel it as well my darling, don’t you?” he whispered.

“Since the first time.” I whispered. He tenderly kissed the tip of my nose and held me for a long, sweet moment. After that, he buried his face into my neck and our legs tangled about one another. Sleep overtook us as we listened to the soft and steady breathing of the other. Our hands remained entwined and dreamless, we slept soundly and still.


	68. Chapter 68

The early hours of dawn brought with it only dark gray skies and the quiet of a breath before a storm. Mycroft and I hadn’t slept long but found no desire or motivation to dress for the day. Instead, we were naked under a large fluffy blanket, his legs spread around me as my back pressed to his chest, lounging comfortably on an outdoor chaise on the balcony above the south gardens. I felt a blissful calm as I cradled a mug of hot chocolate in my hands, and felt his tender lips brush a kiss against my temple. The entirety of the world felt as if it were lying still for us in that moment, and it felt good, to breathe in the morning air. We had been quiet since we made love, simply basking in the presence of the other. He and I were not made for time apart, our love was too consuming.

After a deep sigh, Mycroft broke the silence, “I must meet with my mother and father, to explain several facts regarding Eurus.” He said. Her name still brought chills over my body. I used my fingertip to dance over the edge of my mug.

“Surely they will be angry for everything she has done.” I offered.

“They will not. It is me they shall aim their anger towards. They are not aware Eurus still lives. I had told them otherwise, something I deemed a mercy.” He answered, and I could feel his entire body tensing defensively, as if I too might lash out at him. Carefully, I set my mug on the side table and pulled his palm to my lips where I placed a tender and consoling kiss.

“I can’t imagine, what it was like being the oldest of three. Especially when the two younger siblings are… Sherlock and Eurus. I imagine, that you were young and frightened, and still tried to find a solution that would cause the least harm to everyone.” I told him, because in truth, I believed that with all of my heart. Eurus was absolutely unstable, genius comparable to Newton or not. I knew that she had hurt Sherlock too, it simply was the only reason I could fathom Mycroft would keep her locked away, and I knew it was why he’d conditioned Sherlock to forget her. I was sure there were many people who might believe what he did was cruel, and unorthodox, but that wasn’t how my beloved operated. Anything he did, he did as a martyr, falling on his sword boldly for the sake of making sure those he loved were safe.

I felt his arms cross over me from behind, the blanket dropping from his shoulders a bit as he buried his face in my neck. I held him where his arms crossed over my chest and caressed his forearms. I stayed quiet in hopes he was finding solace in me, because he had given me so much of it, and I never felt like I could reciprocate that enough. I knew that he would tell me everything I wanted to know in time, but right now he was carrying a burden of guilt I could not fathom, but could feel as if it were my own. I had no desire to pepper him with questions and terrible curiosities, only a desire to support him as he had for me. How quickly he had rushed to my side in Savannah, even when I had kept so much from him. I owed him my trust, my back up in this moment, and no matter if he were wrong or right, I would defend his actions with my last breath.

I wanted to pull him out of his dark thoughts, could feel that furrow in his brow when he ached and was overwhelmed. I felt my ring on my finger and said the first thing that came to mind, "I think we should get married soon. I say we go to the justice of the peace tomorrow." I told him. The fact was, I didn't want to wait anymore, my life had been chaos and nearly cut short one too many times. I'd nearly been lost to my Mycroft, had nearly lost him. More terrifying to me than my own torture was knowing he'd tried to take a bullet for John Watson, for Sherlock, so his brother would not have to feel anymore pain of losing a friend. I didn't want to wait another moment, drag out the engagement to plain so big affair. I was already thinking of a simple white dress hanging in my closet I could wear. I realized then he had been quiet a long moment, so I turned my head and tilted my face up to his.

Thick rivers of tears ran down his face as he said, "You would still... still share your life with me? You would still have my name, my heart, give yourself to me?" he asked, his voice cracking and sounding so broken. I felt a split through my sternum at the sound of his beautiful voice so emotional and choked off. I quickly turned all the way around, being sure to keep the blanket close so as not to let in any chill. I lay on his chest, elbows braced on his chest as I thumbed his tears away. I kissed him then, holding his precious cheeks as I did, thumbing them gently in comfort. He let out a small sob as I did, then kissed me back with passion and falling calm beneath me as if he needed to absorb the love I poured out. Finally, I pulled away, holding his gaze with mine and staring intently so he would as always feel the gravity of levity with which I was about to speak.

"Mycroft, I have never more desperately wished to pass through life with someone as I do with you. We are so different and yet you are my second self. So many differences, such different beginnings in life. And yet we found one another. You are the pieces of me that were missing. You and I, we were part of the same star, and when that star died it scattered and planted the seeds to make new stars. And that's where we began and were separated. But I found you, my stardust. And I will never again be without you, not even after my last breath." I said. As I spoke I watched large tears fall, watched as he swallowed around the lump in his throat and his body trembled with emotion. It was beautiful and moving, partly because it was so rare to see. I was honored he'd finally allowed his vulnerable side to come through for me, allowed me to see him crack his mask and stoic facade. Then, he clutched me to him with all of his strength, crushing me against him as he pressed his face to my neck and hair, rubbing his face against my skin. His fingers indented in my back as he held me so fiercely. I simply touched his hair tenderly and let him find the solace he so desperately craved him, let him be weak because he had been so strong for far too long.


	69. Chapter 69

We stayed on the balcony a while longer that morning, remaining in our comfortable silence. Mycroft held me, and every now and then he’d give my hand three squeezes and I’d repeat it back to him. We had no need to fill the quiet with small talk, our minds and heart so in tune we were almost the same person in those quiet moments. A beautiful crack of lightning flashed across the sky for a moment, and thunder raged warning us of the downpour about to fall. We got up and made our way inside just, Mycroft pulling my hand but I stopped just in the doorway. I let the blanket fall as the rain hit my skin and I breathed it in. Mycroft hoisted me into his arms and kissed me as it came down, and I pushed him inside, remembering that the last thing I wanted was for him to catch a cold.

Mycroft’s phone lit up and vibrated, to my surprise he stepped away from me and looked it over. With a sly grin he looked up at me and in all his glorious naked form he kissed my forehead.

”I much prefer you bare before my eyes, but I would like you to dress in something comfortable and meet me in the theatre room.” Mycroft said, a mischievous grin pulling his lips. I couldn’t help but feel myself grinning back, so I nodded my head and before he left the room, he took my hand in his and kissed me, open mouthed and dancing his tongue against mine. It was brief and yet I felt it all the way to my toes and deep in my soul. I let out a soft groan of protest as he went to a drawer and pulled a t-shirt I’d bought him over his head. He slid on some lounge pants I’d bought him too and with a cheeky wink he left the room.

I copied his actions and walked over to his set of drawers. I pulled on one of his t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. After rolling the waistband and pulling the strings they fit well enough although they were way too long. I slid my feet into my forgotten pink monster feet slippers, feeling their familiarity. Mycroft had begun buying me so many fancy things I’d left these at the country house and only worn them now and then. I went into the bathroom, splashed water on my face and pulled my hair up in a messy bun atop my head. I noticed in my reflection I appeared less haunted, almost glowing.

I felt safe with the familiarity of meeting Mycroft in the home theater. It was something we had done many times, making movie date nights, escaping to take a break from our busy schedules and breaks from work. I made the trip quickly, eager to be in his presence again. The sloping entry way and darkened room gave way to the movie pit, the nickname I’d given the couch type furniture that laid out like a bed but could be sat up in comfortably. There stood my beloved beside a small buffet cart lined with silver trays. I smiled at him affectionately, a big smile that showed my teeth.

”Now, I am not sure how in the last two days it can seem as such, but you my darling are wasting away before me. I took the liberty of finding a very special brunch for us.” He said, hands clasped behind his back before he reached for the lid of the first dish. When he lifted it, steam wafted around and I giggled delightedly at what I saw.

”I sought a former sous chef of the Chart House and he accepted my offer. I present to you southern buttermilk biscuits with sawmill gravy.” He said before reaching for the next domed lid, “Thick hickory smoked bacon,” he said, “Buttermilk pancakes with homemade syrup, and…” he said before bending down to retrieve something beneath the buffet. He lifted a cooler, one of those you can use to ship cold items in the mail. Opening it he lifted out a sealed gallon of an amber liquid. “The house wine.” He said, smiling proudly at himself. My hand made its way to my heart as I felt tears prick my eyes.

I immediately walked over to him and wrapped my arms around him, throwing myself into him. He caught me gracefully as ever. I looked up into his eyes and held his cheek in my palm. He leaned in and closed his eyes, breathing deep as if my touch were his salvation. I kissed the tip of his nose before my hunger got the better of me. I filled my plate excitedly and even though I was prepping to pig out, Mycroft merely looked at me with a satisfied smile. His own plate wasn’t nearly as full as mine, but I would not pester him on it now, I know he was self-conscious about his body and form. But for me, this was comfort food and I was going to gorge myself.

Knowing what I need before I do, Mycroft turned on a classic film I loved, called Arthur. It’s a little dated made in the eighties with Dudley Moore and Liza Minelli. It’s funny, lighthearted, no gore or murder, no suspense. It was therapeutic to laugh with my beloved, eating and resting as his hand rest on my leg. We were content, recovering, laughing again. Mycroft’s laugh, his real laugh, not the cynical snarky one was music to my ears, beautiful to behold. Whenever I made him laugh like that I would glow with pride, and we chuckled merrily throughout the film.

Bellies full we started the sequel to Arthur and as I watched it, I noticed Mycroft staring at me for a moment after I laughed at a particularly funny scene. I looked over at him and he brushed my wayward side bangs from my face. His face was hard to read in that moment, the crease between his eyebrows as he looked at me so intently, so fiercely. His eyes were sapphire dark with severity and I could never in a million years fathom what he was thinking in that exact moment.

”Run away with me. Let’s get married. Let me take you to Paris and we shall say our vows before one another in the heart of the city.” He said to me, his voice in a low desperate whisper. I smiled, felt it split across my face instantly. The romance of running away to Paris to wed Mycroft sounded picturesque, like a fairytale, unbelievable and for a moment I thought this couldn’t possibly be my life.

”That sounds perfect. Let’s do it!”

I said excitedly, throwing myself into his lap and hugging him, laughing and giggling like a little girl. And in that moment I couldn’t help but think, dreams do come true. And that I had found the man that would treat me like a Queen everyday of my life, and that this, this was what real love, true love was supposed to look and feel like.


	70. Chapter 70

The next day Mycroft came home grieved and weighted down, his shoulders slumped and his walk less confident. It was an entirely stark contrast to his graceful and poised gait to which I had become accustomed to. I watched from the kitchen as he made his way to the siting room bar and poured a glass of single malt scotch. He sat on the sofa and ran his hand over his brow, distress clear in the lines that formed around his lips and a slight quiver in his chin. I stood stock still a moment, frightened of what had shaken him so deeply, but quickly recovered myself and eased to the space beside him. Tenderly, I clasped his empty hand, running my thumbs over the surface and sitting quietly for as long as he needed.

”I should have done better...”he whispered then, quietly and softly, his eyes still closed behind his palm covering them. I lifted one hand to the back of his head and touched it delicately, running my fingers through his soft hair. I didn’t need him to spell it out, he’d met with his mother and father today to discuss the tragedy that was Eurus Holmes.

”You did your best. What only you could deem the right course of action. I know you never meant for anyone to get hurt.” I told him tenderly, running my fingers down the back of his head, my thumb still rubbing circles on his hand. He squeezed it back suddenly, and I saw his shoulders shake then. My heart trembled in my chest and I felt tears welling in to my own eyes, his devastation so raw and becoming my own. I was just about to offer more words of comfort when he suddenly set his glass on the coffee table and wrapped his arms about my waist, his head resting in my lap. I continued to play with his hair a long moment, gazing at his distraught and tormented profile.

”I have detrimentally harmed every person I love. Sherlock offered me your same sentiments, that I had sincerely done my best. But I should have done better. I placed you in harm, allowed you to be tortured alone… at least Dr. Watson and Sherlock had myself present.” He said to me, tears flowing from his eyes as he spoke. I felt a vice about the cavities of my heart at his words.

”Reason tells me I should release you, for safety and your own good health. You have weathered so much my brave magnolia, how much more before I watch you whither in my palm? I would be unable to forgive myself, I would take the path of destruction and not care if I were to allow you harmed again.” he told me, his voice thick and choked off as he uttered the words. I felt my stomach drop as a new wave of despair rested within me. I felt my breathing stop, my heart pounding in my ears. As hot tears fell from my eyes he looked up at me, holding my chin in his fingertips.

”I think I shall not listen to reason. For who better to protect you than England himself? And I make you this promise now, a vow to you and only you. Never again will you be alone, never again will anyone touch you with the intent of abuse or damage. You are forever my angel, and I shall not cage you, but keep you close with me and gladly take any hurt aimed for you. I shall protect you with my life, until my last breath and long after.” He said to me, that sincerity in his eyes and his tone no longer desperate but filled with unfiltered truth and fact. I felt myself calming at last and then, I wrapped my arms about him, curling onto his lap and holding him tight. We stayed curled up in the arms of one another well into the night.

Mycroft and I returned to the townhouse that Sunday, because it was necessary he restore world order before our romantic runaway wedding in Paris. I knew what his job meant to him and how he craved that control, so I did not complain about his long nights and days. My only problem with it was his exhaustion, and the fact that he was still striving to give me time and attention. In the meantime, I was laid off from the museum due to my time away, so I busied myself with housewife duties. I made his breakfast and lunch, striving to keep my beloved fed and nourished. I personally took his suits to the dry cleaners and spent some time job perusing. On a whim, I applied for a few teaching positions of musical theatre in respectable private schools. It was a career path I hadn’t yet thought of, but felt a pull. I adored children, I always had, and knew it would be therapeutic as well as decent paying. I could still do what I loved, but in a more constructive way. I was already excited at the prospect of fostering passionate young singers and actors.

It was three weeks later that I was putting the finishing touches on our luggage for the flight to Paris. When Mycroft arrived home from work, we’d be heading to the private jet that would take us to our happily ever after. I was giddy, bouncing on the balls of my feet as I danced about our bedroom putting last minute items into our cases. I had music playing, singing as I went about my task and closing the cases. As I stood recounting everything I’d included I felt tears prick my eyes. This was it. I was getting my fairytale, my true love, and I couldn’t help but feel like I deserved it. Because I knew now something I hardly knew before Mycroft, that I was so worthy of love, of good love. I nearly fell apart as I thought I could feel the hurts and wounds in my heart bandaging and growing back together, the pieces all sealing in place. It was an overwhelming feeling to be so very loved so much, to be getting everything I had ever wanted.

The doorbell ringing pulled me from my emotional reverie and I danced down the stairs quickly. I was wearing a lovely cherry red sundress, Mycroft having said red was my color. I swiped my cheeks and found Dr. John Watson on my doorstep. I’d forgotten my beloved had mentioned he would be coming by to do a follow up after my heroin withdrawals and near-death experience. I smiled at him and gestured for him to come inside.

”John, I’m so sorry. I nearly forgot we had an appointment.” I said apologetically as he set his bag on the coffee table, “Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked making my way to the kitchen.

”Yeah, a cuppa would be great.” He said, staring at me for a long moment with a bewildered expression.

As I brought his tea to him I asked, “Do I look bad?”. He shook his head and then sat down with his tea.

”Not at all… you just are glowing. Remarkable how you and… Mycroft…” he said taking a sip from his cup. I laughed happily as I sat beside him on the sofa.

”I suppose it’s that pre-wedding glow.” I answered excitedly. For a moment we sat and chatted, John letting me know how Sherlock was doing. He pulled out his phone to show me pictures of Rosie, and I let him know if he ever needed me to babysit again I’d be more than happy to do so. We talked a long time, never mentioning the trials we endured from Eurus. I was glad to have it behind all of us, relieved that he was still the kind and sweet Dr. Watson that had been so gentle and caring with me all that time ago. Everyone’s lives were falling back into place, and it felt like a new beginning, I could feel happiness and joy in the air like the oncoming autumn.

”Well I just need to check your blood pressure, things like that. It’s all a bit routine. I know Mycroft is just worried about you.” John said, pulling out a cuff and his stethoscope. He commented my blood pressure was a little high but nothing to worry over. He did a through once over of my pupils, ears, nose and throat. He questioned me regarding my withdrawal symptoms and asked if I had any more episodes with convulsions. I answered with an honest no feeling rather comfortable with my body and the state it was in.

”And the only medication you’re taking is microgestin correct?” he asked. I felt all the color drain from my face, my heart starting anew and racing. So much had happened so fast my mind was reeling. When was the last time I took my birth control? Better yet when was my last period? I couldn’t remember, but I’d never really kept track of it before. I just took my pills and it was so routine for me I never worried. Now I was quite and thoroughly worried. Everything had gone so quiet, my ears ringing I hadn’t even realized John addressing me.

When my eyes refocused on him, those kind blue eyes and know it all smile he seemed to have adopted from Sherlock, he was holding out a test. I took it with trembling fingers and felt like my heart was in my stomach and my stomach was in my bottom.

”I’ll wait here for you.” John said and I nodded my head. As I walked and the pit in my stomach deepened I was going over dates in my head. I kept pondering the last pill I’d taken and how it didn’t work that way and it wasn’t possible. I tore it open in the downstairs half bath and sat on the toilet keeping it poised in the appropriate position. After a second I started to go, and I held it under the stream until I was done. I capped the end and washed my hands, staring at the timer window waiting and waiting as the first horizontal line appeared. I started feeling light headed so I sat beside John again. Suddenly he took the little white stick and I flew my hands for it to gain it back.

”You’re about to give me a panic attack staring at it!” he exclaimed. For the next three minutes neither of us spoke a word and to be perfectly dramatic, it was the longest three minutes of my life. In fact, it might as well have been three hours. I was knotting my fingers and biting my lip so nervously, my foot bouncing on the heel as we sat there. John I could tell would try to speak now and then but fell silent instead. He was probably gauging my reaction just as I was trying to gauge what Mycroft’s might be. It was daunting, the prognosis of a little white stick.

”You know what I still can’t imagine? Papa Mycroft.” He said finally, and then he turned the stick to me. And there it was plain as the blue sky, a big red cross. I bolted for the bathroom that exact second and dumped the contents of that morning from my stomach. I muttered several curses at myself for being so irresponsible, wiped my mouth and continued to feel stupid. I had no right to dump this on Mycroft like this, not after everything we’d been through. We were to be married, and then wait and plan for children in the future. He was a planner. This would not make him happy, but of course he would pretend to be, to save my feelings and make me feel better. John’s voice pulled me out as I walked back to the sitting room.

”You know he’ll be over the moon right? Babies are incredible. And the way I’ve heard it, when Sherlock came home from the hospital, you’d have thought Sherlock was his. He did everything for him day in and day out. Even Rosie loves him. You know? I have always wanted to know something Mycroft didn’t, and now I finally do! And I can’t even tell him!” John exclaimed, playful and frustrated all at once. It made me smile a bit, as I kept the stick clutched tight in my hand.

”Maybe I over saturated it. It can happen. I’ve heard stories.” I said then.

John placed a comforting hand on my shoulder as he readied himself to leave, “It’ll be fine. You’re probably about four weeks, maybe not quite. An OBGYN can tell you the exact date of conception, although I’m sure you’ve worked that out in your mind. They’ll also warn you about the risk of miscarriage early on. It happens pretty frequently so keep your stress as low as possible. Good luck and… congratulations Mrs. Holmes.” John said to me. In a gesture of paternal comfort he kissed my cheek and left with a closed lip smile. I stayed sitting on the sofa for a long time thinking over and over in my head about… everything.


	71. Chapter 71

When Mycroft arrived home, he walked through our front door and dramatically placed his suitcase down in the entryway. I watched him curiously as he beamed at me with pure adoration and rubbing his empty palms together excitedly. He made quick strides to where I stood and scooped me up, spinning me around and kissing me deeply. One arm braced under my behind and the other around my back he clutched me to his chest, and with a loud mwah he kissed my lips again, playfully and dramatically. It was hard to hold on to my impending worries when he was playful and so sweet I felt my heart physically melting in my chest.

”I shall not be touching my briefcase nor any sort of paperwork for the next three weeks. Instead, I intend to touch every inch of my beautiful bride’s skin and engage in her joyous laughter and vacation for the first time in ten years.” He said, and I was suddenly excited all over again. I hadn’t thought of when was the last time Mycroft had a vacation, a break even, from his tremendous responsibilities. I giggled and kicked my feet where they hung in the air. He looked into my eyes a long moment, smiling so brilliantly I couldn’t breathe. Mycroft was beautiful in all facets, but happy and care free, that was truly something to behold. I’d do anything to keep that delighted smile on his face and so I decided then I needed to be myself and not worry. I had done some online reading and miscarriage was so common in the early weeks, and the last thing he needed was another disappointment or heartbreak. I knew too well he’d find a way to blame himself, saying he’d failed me in some way. For now it would be my little secret.

It took us no time at all to board the plane, I’d discreetly left the pregnancy test in my nightstand drawer at home, out of sight out of mind. Mycroft made sure I had the best window seat on the jet because he knew how I’d love to see the Paris lights as we flew over. He was so incredibly thoughtful it nearly moved me to tears with his every romantic gesture. Then again, it could have been some hormones messing with me. I needed to keep it together, cool, excited and bubbly as always. He knew me too well and he’d catch on, the man knew me too well and saw too much.

With a flourish he pulled out a twenty-five year bottle of Don Perignon and filled two crystal flutes, passing mine and lifting his, “To a lifetime of love, devotion, passion. To soul mates and star dust.” He said raising his glass. I kept my smile in check as I saluted and took a small sip praying to God it wouldn’t harm anything. To not drink any of it at all would definitely raise his suspicions, but I wasn’t about to drink it down fast either. That’s when an idea hit me.

”Mycroft darling, I just realized I haven’t had any water at all today. Can you get me a bottle? I’m super dehydrated.” I said, because this was a common occurrence. As of late Mycroft had been fussing over me when he was home and he knew I was bad about forgetting to drink water. He nodded and smiled with his new mission and when he did, I found an empty cup and dumped the rest of the champagne inside of it, hiding it in a cup holder away from sight. I felt a twinge of guilt knowing that was probably a hundred dollars worth of it I’d just wasted, but as they say ‘desperate times, desperate measures. I took my water happily, a chilled glass bottle of Voss and sipped it, holding his arm as he snuggled close to me. Potential disaster number one averted.

”So when we arrive, I thought we might check in at the hotel and have dinner. I’ve arranged a rooftop reservation overlooking the Eifel Tower from the establishment we will be staying at. And afterwards…” he said, taking my knuckles to his lips and grazing his teeth across them seductively, “I thought we might bask in the nude worshipping one another’s bodies.” And I nearly swallowed my tongue. His eyes were burning sapphires, his lips so soft and all I could think about was how well I knew those lips could kiss me. In a matter of seconds, at just his suggestive tone I was hot and bothered pressing my thighs together. He smirked at me flirtatiously and rested his hand on one of my thighs, teasing me as only he could, his long fingered hand warm and heavy against my soft skin.

Our flight was only a bit longer than an hour and as dusk fell, Paris came into view. It was simply breath taking, and I eagerly gazed out of the window. In that moment it clicked, that this was actually my life and that it was so good. I was so happy as Mycroft leaned over and began pointing things out, saying the French titles of places and buildings with a delicious and perfect accent. He breath danced against my ear as he named all of them off, causing me to fight squirming in my seat. Every single thing he did was beautiful, magical and I could not believe he was mine. I turned to him then, our noses close and kissed him passionately. “Thank you, my darling.” I whispered against his lips.

The hotel was gorgeous and ostentatious, so check in was incredibly simple. We hadn’t even really checked in, as if the entire staff had been waiting since the plane touched down in the tarmac. Our suite was essentially an enormous apartment, complete with kitchen, grand powder room, king bed and marble columns. Natural light would come through the many windows and the view was awe inspiring from them. All of our luggage had been unpacked, pressed, folded and hung neatly. Candles lit the room as romance floated heavy on the air, the balcony doors open allowing in the warm night air. Never in my life had I imagined my first time in Paris would be so wonderful. I never imagined I’d be getting married here.

Over a delicious French dinner we discussed the wedding details. Neither of us could wait, so we decided that next afternoon and Mycroft said he would handle everything else. He calmly told me he would handle acquiring an officiant, his clothing would be procured, a photographer would be present and that I need only express any further wants or desires and they would be made to happen. I had no need for a grand affair, just a dress and boquet. I knew girls always fussed over this, but I didn’t care about any of it really. Just making vows to Mycroft, he making them to me, that was all I needed.

”What shall we do for cake, my darling? A reception?” he asked me then. 

”Let’s go to a nice place afterwards, just us. We can have all the desserts we want, and dance together.” I said to him, and I could tell my answer concerned him.

”There is nothing more you wish to have? I will make it happen, anything for you.” He answered, testing but not pressing as he spoke. I smiled brightly and shook my head no, because all I needed was right in front of me. And possibly living inside of me.

”Very well, my beloved Ruth. I shall have you escorted to a couture bridal shop tomorrow after breakfast. You may take all the time you require and I will handle the rest. Your dress will be taken to the hotel discreetly, I shall not see it. Shall we meet in the lounge?” he asked. I stood from my seat and crossed over to him. I sat across his lap, my arms locking about his neck. “I’ll be the one dressed like a bride.” I whispered. “You shall be my bride, my greatest treasure and strength.” He said back, and under the most brilliant stars and moon we kissed and touched and continued to make out for god knows how long.


	72. Chapter 72

When we retired to the hotel suite, Mycroft was kissing me deeply as we stumbled into the room. I was in overdrive, my body hot and desirous for his love making. Somehow, someway, I found the will to pull away from him and placed my hand on his chest. I thought we should hold off just one more night, because by this time the following day we would be wed. To me, that would make our joining all the more romantic. With a sigh he kissed me tenderly and nodded his head, and I couldn’t help but grin because, he didn’t press me, he didn’t tease me. Mycroft simply accepted my terms and he was a man after all, so of course there was a tinge of disappointment, but prince that he was he gave me no less affection that evening.

The tub was massive in the powder room and I sighed deeply as I slid beneath milky foam and delectable smelling bubbles for a bath. I was glad to be pampering myself on our first night of our little romantic getaway. Mycroft popped his head in and brought me a tray of strawberries and cream and of course, more champagne. I thanked him generously and pulled him down by his suit lapel to kiss him open mouthed. That was how I managed to spill some of the bubbly out of the glass onto the floor. The man knew I was clumsy so he laughed it off and said he’d let me enjoy my bath with no further distractions. I smiled and nodded as he left me to my thoughts.

I slid down into the jacuzzi tub up to my ears and kept my nose above the water, my breaths rippling the surface with my breathing. Mycroft had a right to know that I was carrying his child and that I was terrified. But if I miscarried, he’d have to go through that and if he was able to be as happy as John had made me believe he would be, then it would destroy him. As I heaved a sigh I felt my fingers exploring the area around my belly button and a tad lower, applying just enough pressure to feel anything abnormal. It didn’t take me long to feel a little nodule beneath the surface of my skin. It wasn’t quite a bump of course, it was too early, but it was a hardened lump that probably only I could feel because I knew my body so well. I kept trying to rehearse the lines in my head to say the words to Mycroft. None of them were right, none of them sounded legitimate and sincere. I couldn’t just blurt it out, what was I supposed to say?

Mycroft thoroughly pampered me that evening, using lotion heated by a candle to massage into my skin that smelled of honey and oats. Wearing dressing robes we ventured out onto the balcony and slow danced as he hummed to me softly. A breeze caused loose strands of my hair to sweep across my face and he stared at me utterly awestruck. For that perfect moment, we were dancing on a cloud and all the world was fairy lights and compassion and love. I had everything I’d ever wanted right in front of me.

”You look rather tired, angel. Let us retire for the night.” Mycroft said, leading me back into the bedroom. I sighed as he lifted me to the bed and removed my robe, pulling back the covers and letting me slide beneath the soft and cool sheets. Gracefully he climbed over me and beside me, pulling me in close with my nose in his chest. I could feel where my lower belly touched his, the way I arched my back into him and wondered if he felt it. That small spark of life, if the heartbeat there could pull at his mind and make him wonder. I shook my head knowing well and good that wasn’t how it worked. I looked up at him and he lovingly kissed my forehead. His thumb brushed the crease in my brows and finally I fell asleep, safe in his long arms.

When morning came, he woke me softly, dotting my face with kisses and his lips pressing to my closed lids. I smiled sleepily and stretched my arms above my head lazily. The bed had been soft and cozy, the bedding remaining cool through the night. I opened my eyes to meet his sweet sleepy face and sparkling eyes. He ran his nose down the length of mine, and despite my potential morning breath he kissed me open mouthed, no holds barred. I reached up to his nape and stroked his hair in my fingers, fighting the urge to have him take me right then and there.

”I would not allow it even if you plead on hands and knees.” He whispered against my lips, reading my mind as he had always been so capable of doing. I gave him a pout then and he merely chuckled and smiled at me before saying, “I find the notion quite… endearing. I should very much enjoy the anticipation for this evening’s marriage consummation. So until then, my glowing bride…” and with that he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it innocently, but those burning sapphires held promise of far more dark and delectable things. My toes curled in anticipation and lust. Then, the wicked man rose from the bed completely nude and giving me a view of his delectable backside. I groaned in frustration before he caught me and gave me a salacious grin.

”I do believe we have discussed before the decorum you are lacking by gazing so unabashedly at my back side. Were you entirely absent for the course of that lesson?” he asked me.

I giggled and answered by raising a sassy brow, “They did not teach us about wicked government officials with backsides that were sculpted to the perfection of Michelangelo’s David.” He laughed loudly then and I heard the shower being turned on. I was immediately excited all over again, it was my wedding day. In just a few hours’ time I would be Mrs. Mycroft Holmes, and I was already emotional thinking about how beautiful his vows would be and how wonderful it would be to see him standing there as I made mine. The sun was shining brilliantly but it wasn’t hot, just the most perfect day that I could imagine.

I joined Mycroft in the spacious shower, wrapping my arms around him from behind as he rinsed under the hot water. He stilled at my touch and turned to me, hugging me close and tight. Then, he pulled away and grabbed some of my body wash, pouring it into his palms and rubbing it into a lather. With gentle pressure he began washing me, working knots in my shoulders and on down my back. As he reached for my legs, he surprised me by sitting on his knees and taking one of my feet in hand. He washed each one thoroughly and with care causing tears to once again spring to my eyes. Mycroft constantly humbled himself to serve me, to care for me. It was moving and beautiful and I felt so very precious.

I dressed in a button down dress of emerald and wore a big sunhat, going sans make up to save my face for the ceremony. We sat in a small café where my handsome fiancé sat sipping espresso and I opted for orange juice with my crepes and berries. Every now and then I’d catch his bewildered stare and blush excitedly. I had no idea where he would be taking me next, I only knew well in advanced to not glance at the price tags if there were any. He’d be spending a small fortune on my gown and as much as I appreciated it I hoped he didn’t think it had to be this way. I’d told him time and time again his money or title did not impress me. I honestly think he just enjoyed sharing his wealth, he was awfully generous with his charities and me. I was soon to be his wife, and I would have never gotten this far had he believed my character was less than true and uninspired by material things.

After breakfast we were in a luxury limousine headed down the main roads of Paris. I was immediately in love with this city, and was happy to be able to roll the windows down to smell the roses and fresh baked bread and pastries filling the street. Mycroft watched me in proud admiration, because of course he had seen Paris before. I was certain he envied me in that moment, like when I’d finished my favorite books and knew I’d never feel again what I felt in that first read. The car slowed moments later and eased to a stop before one of the finest bridal shops I’d ever seen, the words Zuhair Murad emblazoned in silver letting. I looked over my shoulder at Mycroft feigning annoyance. He merely shrugged his shoulders before pulling me in for a kiss.

”Do have fun my darling Ruth. You will be treated as a princess, my queen. The shop is open only for you today. I have arranged for a make up artiste and salon staff to be cater to your every whim.” He told me before coming round and opening my door. His hand met mine and I stood on the cobbled sidewalk, “Thank you, for you.” I told him. He waited until I was opening the door and inside before the limousine pulled away.


	73. Chapter 73

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To iheartloki and all of my other devoted readers, thank you for allowing me to continue this work and tell this story. I am still, like I always say, humbled by your kind words, encouragement, support, all of it. I know we may be strangers on the internet but I consider all of you my family, I think of you often and you motivate me to keep writing because I can't let you down. I love you all! I really do. I have been in a bad place, I have been dealing with divorce, depression, financial struggles and crippling loneliness. I don't want you to feel sorry for me, but believe me when I say you all have played a big part in my ability to get out of bed in the morning. I mean that, I'm not just saying this for attention I swear. Thank you for taking your precious time, which I know is more valuable than any currency, to read my story, tell me your thoughts, comment, like it, share it, all of it. You are amazing individuals no matter where you come from, what walk of life you've had. I hope you all continue to find joy in my work and feel free to follow me on tumblr, MusingsofOphelia, as well. All my love and best wishes.

The shop was exquisite and quiet, save for the soundtrack of my favorite love songs playing quietly over the speaker system. I was quite baffled at the effort Mycroft was putting forth for me, but then again I wasn’t entirely surprised. The walls were lined with white fabrics, mannequins stood in bridal and model poses in some of the finest dresses I’d ever seen in my life. That bubble of excitement returned when the manager introduced herself in perfect English. Her name was Avaline and she was a beautiful French woman with jet black hair styled in a sleek bob, standing at well over my height with long thin legs covered in pantyhose to match her smart black skirt suit. Her excitement was meeting me was contagious and discreetly she informed me that in her time she had helped several royal and celebrity brides find the dress of their dreams. The thought was daunting, but I knew only the best would do for Mycroft’s girl.

First, Avaline took all of my measurements from bust to natural waist, my hips and thighs and she excitedly began lining up dresses on a rack for me to look over. She asked me lots of questions, mostly about the love story that was Mycroft and myself. How these questions would pertain to my dress baffled me, but nonetheless my future husband was too often my favorite topic of conversation. As I spoke I realized how the odds had been stacked against us, and how we had always managed to put one another first. Even when we were overworked and under slept, we still made time to express our love and passion, time being our most valuable treasure to offer, and we gave it so much to the other.

Avaline didn’t overload me with dresses as she made suggestions. My favorite thing about this designer was the details, all lace and soft feminine details in whites and ivories. Each piece was a hand sewn work of art and it made the decision really difficult, I wanted to take Mycroft’s breath away, wanted to be the bride of his dreams, the bride he deserved. I had a couple on the maybe rack when Avaline arrived with another dress for me to try on. I tired not to be forlorn and said that my mother was never going to be here to give me a loving opinion, that Kat wasn’t here to be brutally honest and assure me to wear the gown that would make me feel like the super model I was. I wasn’t paying much attention lost in my melancholy thoughts when I realized I needed assistance with the buttons down the back of the gown.

Quick to my rescue, Avaline assisted me through the curtain and when I stepped out her eyes watered tearfully. My eyebrows raised in surprise and I was uncertain as I approached the runway that ended with a pedestal surrounded by three mirrors. And in my reflection I saw what I was certain the shop manager did, a bride, a real bride. The bodice was sweetheart cut showing an elegant and classy amount of cleavage, sheer lace sleeves hugging my arms with heavy details on the cuffs where it buttoned to my wrists.. It was sheer in places against my torso but covering the basics with corset boning and more heavy lace about my bust. It cut off at my natural waist and flowed like magic fairy dust to my feet in long tulle with more flower appliques. It wasn’t clingy but not overly fluffy like a ball gown, and as I took in my reflection with no make up and hair in a messy loose knot I felt heavenly and beautiful, and I knew this was my dress.

In that exact moment I watched as Avaline approached behind me and with delicate care she lay a veil over my shoulders and in the messy bun my hair was in. The hem of the veil matched the intricate hand sewn work of the bodice and in that moment, tears filled my eyes. This was it, the moment I had dreamed of my entire life since I was a little girl. My hands flew to my mouth as I gasped and felt my tears falling anew. I wasn’t even sure why I was crying, this had been the most happy tears I’d ever shed in my lifetime and I was beginning to wonder what a pain my hormones were going to be as my pregnancy progressed… if it progressed.

The hours had ticked by too quickly, and while my dress was sent back the hotel, I was on a mission to find my bouquet and Mycroft’s wedding band. I wanted to purchase something special that he would wear everyday for the rest of his life. I knew I’d be hard pressed to find the perfect thing for him, but running on the luck I’d had finding my dress, I believed I’d know it when I saw it. My fiancé was nowhere to be found but the driver was waiting for me by the curb. I told him I wished to explore for myself and since we were in the high end of Paris, he seemed happy to oblige. Making my way past tourists and busy fashion personnel I took slow steps past the shops.

A glimmer sparkling across my peripheral caught my eye, and there it was in the window: the most beautiful bouquet I’d ever seen. It was made with pale pink silk roses, ivory magnolias in the mix. Around the arrangement and the source of the sparkle was rose gold and pink diamond brooches. Pearls hung from around the base in long whimsical strands, the handle cast in ivory satin with a white diamond brooch. I was so awestruck I stared at the gorgeous piece of art for too long and remembered I was on a time crunch. Mycroft had sent me a text that he moved the make up and hair ladies to our hotel room so I had room to get ready and so I might feel more comfortable than at the bridal shop. I quickly made my purchase and sought out the line of jewelry stores to complete my preparations.

I stood looking in the full length mirror of the hotel bedroom and felt like the most beautiful woman on Earth, and I resolved to myself that this was how every woman should feel on her special day. My gown had exquisite lingerie underneath, provided by Mycroft from Agent Provacateur, sheer and sensual bustier and white undies with blue bows on the side adorned with pearls. My garter was lace and delicate, crowned with authentic diamonds and the largest blue sapphire I had ever seen. I held my bouquet in front of me, with Mycroft's wedding band on my thumb. He was an old fashioned gentleman, so I had settled on a simple golden band engraved with a simple and masculine filigree pattern, knowing he would not want something modern or more stylish. Of course, he didn't like it I could exchange it for him or we could go pick out something together. My make up was to perfection, smokey doe eyes, red smudge proof lipstick, glowing cheeks and long dark lashes, hair and veil falling around my face in vintage waves and delicate material. I was beautiful and felt every inch of it, except one detail continued to pull at me and plague me with guilt and terror. And I realized this was not how I wanted to remember my wedding day, that I wanted no more secrets or omissions from Mycroft.

Quickly I grabbed my phone, the one Mycroft had purchased for me when mine was damaged and lost, and he answered on the first ring, "Is all well, my darling? What do you require?" his panicked voice asked me."I just need to see you. I... I can't wait to marry you, but I need to see you." I told him eagerly, knowing his first thought might be that I had changed my mind. I paced a moment, setting my bouquet on the bed and waiting, and all too soon the room door opened and there entered Mycroft. He looked gorgeous in a black tux, his gait confident as he kept his back to me and his eyes closed. I smiled despite myself knowing he could care less about tradition but was maintaining some element of surprise for me. I quietly walked over to him and rested my hand on his shoulder, watched his eyebrow quirk above his closed lid. I knew if I didn't blurt it out and fast I'd lose my nerve and go on hiding this. And that wasn't fair, not to me, not for the baby, not to Mycroft.

"Mycroft, I-I'm pregnant." I whispered, and in a split second those sparkling beautiful blues shot open and he turned to me. His brows were pinched together, concern marred his features and I knew he needed to hear it again, unsure of what he had just heard.

"I'm pregnant. It...it was an accident. After everything that happened, I forgot my birth control. There was so much going on. And the other day, John... Dr. Watson, he asked me if that was still the only medication I took. And it hit me. I couldn't remember the last time I'd taken it, and you and I, we healed each other-" I began babbling and explaining, striving to defend my careless and irresponsible actions. I was cut off though, by his lips to mine in a crushing and desirous kiss. He pulled away and fell to one knees in front of me, looking down for a moment. When his gaze returned to mine, I began crying at the sight of glittering tears hanging in his eyes. I was frozen though, I could not fathom what more to say, could not move my hands or feet. His perfect hands reached up and touched my would be womb, cradling that little lump of cells by pressing his fingers around it. I felt the warmth, the unconditional love seep through my dress and layers of flesh then, and he leaned his face to kiss me there, closing his eyes and breathing deep through his nose as he did. My heart expanded and stilled at the sight of such devotion, and as the silence stretched on I felt everything Mycroft was feeling. He was overjoyed, relieved even, there was unconditional love and a para mounting fear of failure, but a deliverance of grace and peace.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away. I was worried and the first trimester has-" I began speaking again, but he interrupted me by standing before me and clasping my hands in his warmly. He smiled at me like I was his reason for existing, the oxygen he breathed and the sun that made him feel free and joyous.

"Apologize no more my beloved perfect angel. I have not received many gifts over the course of my life, and yet I believed you to be the greatest of these. And in your true nature of determination, you have quite thoroughly bettered that by gifting me this baby, our baby. I believe it was you who said to me, the greatest testament of true and binding love is the creation of life. And what better vessel to deliver such a testament than you, my darling perfect woman." he said to me, his eyes never breaking their contact with mine, his palm remaining on that little clump of cells that would be fast growing. I was overwhelmed and trying hard not to burst into tears of joy, of relief. Mycroft, prepared as always, pulled his silk black pocket square from his jacket pocket and offered it to me.

I took it and shook my head, "I'll ruin the material wiping my tears." I told him.

He took it from me and began dotting the corners of my eyes, tenderly keeping my make up in tact as he did, "Oh my beloved Ruth, it is an honor to this piece of silk to dry your precious diamond tears." he whispered and I giggled. He could still bewilder me with his romantic words and phrases. I hoped twenty or thirty years from now he still spoke to me with such kindness, that he still swept me off of my feet and made me weak in the knees with his stride, his strength, his brilliant brain and silver tongue. He was my soul mate, so I wasn't terribly worried about it.

Once my tears were dried he looked at me and said, "Well no child of mine shall be illegitmate, and I shall not allow anyone to misconstrue that my fiance is loose. Shall we continue our plans of marriage?" he asked me, laughter and sarcasm filling his face. I beamed at him and said, "Yes, please."


	74. Chapter 74

I felt like a weight had been lifted from the pit of my stomach as Mycroft and I hurried to the limousine waiting outside of the hotel. Once in the backseat, we were all wandering hands and heavy breathing, mouths over every inch of each other they could reach. He was careful of course, with my dress and make up, but I couldn’t stop myself from tugging on his tie and fingering his lapels as I sat across his lap. I could not wait to marry him, I could not wait to gift him the small surprise I had for us in the bedroom later that night. He was perfection personified and he would from this day forever be my happily ever after.

When our transport halted, he exited first and extended his hand to me. I stepped out and stared open mouthed at the grandness of the Eiffel Tower that would be the background for our nuptials. Just under one of its arches stood a man with a small Bible in his hand, and I recognized him immediately. Brother John stood there holding the same powder blue Bible he’d read from the day I was baptized. I looked at Mycroft in awe and he touched my hand where it gripped the crook of his elbow. I’d no idea how or why, or even what had made him go to such lengths, but I was grateful and completely touched. I blinked back my tears as I saw people gathering around, complete strangers and tourists, volunteering to witness our vows for us. It was so terribly romantic and exciting.

”Well my beloved, this is our walk.” he whispered to me affectionately as his nose tickled across my ear playfully and romantic. I beamed at him and took a deep breath, no longer afraid, broken, alone, no longer wondering what my life might be like. I wasn’t the least bit nervous, because I knew in the most deep and binding part of my soul I was loved, I was deep in love with my soul mate and this was the reason I wanted to marry Mycroft Holmes.

With sure and steady steps he led me down the paved path that served as our wedding aisle, and the background noise was cameras clicking away and people sighing in awe. I grinned as I looked at my feet a moment, before holding my head high beside Mycroft. His own stance was proud, strong, as if he were absolutely in this moment the most accomplished and happiest man on this Earth. It caused a glimmer to spark within me, knowing that by marrying me he was prouder and stronger. The closer we came to the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, the more excited I became, wanting to rush forward and yell the words ‘I do’ as loud as I could for all of Paris to hear.

Mycroft began humming softly as we approached the preacher, and then in perfect harmony he began to sing a special wedding march, just for me. He began the words to ‘Amazing Grace’ and tears filled my eyes to the brim as we walked. Mycroft didn’t believe in a higher power, but I had given him something to believe in. His voice was beautiful, years of music theory and education had made him vocally apt. Maybe I was partial, but hearing my husband to be sing me down the aisle was to date one of the greatest moments of my life and no one could have sang it better. We stopped before Brother John and to my surprise he turned to me, holding one of my hands in his and placing my cheek in his palm. Hi eyes never broke contact with mine.

"Through many dangers, toils and snares We have already come. T'was grace that brought us safe thus far And grace will lead us home, And grace will lead me home..." he sang and then he lowered his hand, keeping mine still encased in his other one. I could not stop smiling and was waiting for my cheeks to ache, could not take my eyes from the beloved man before me. How breathtaking he was to me, and so much more so in that moment where we would pledge our eternal life to one another. The sunset golden across his face, twilight causing a golden glow about him and I was transfixed. This beautiful man with a once broken heart, with eyes of midnight and spilled stars, that slight crooked aristocratic nose, and red hair darkened by age, that long form and brilliant mind, the soul he didn't believe in but that I had witnessed and adored. Yes, this man was to be my husband and no fictional character or storybook prince would have been better.

Brother John cleared his throat and Mycroft gave me a sweet and knowing smile as I redirected my attention. He opened his Bible, but instead of reading it from it, he read from a small piece of paper, loud enough for the strangers turned witnesses to hear. He said, "A soul mate is someone who has locks to fit our keys, and keys to fit our locks. When we feel safe enough to open the locks, our truest selves step out and we can be completely and honestly who we are; we can be loved for who we are... and not who we are pretending to be. Each unveils the best part of the other. No matter what else goes wrong around us., with one person we're safe in our own paradise. Our soul mate is someone who shares our deepest longings, our sense of direction. When we're two balloons, and together our direction is up, chances are we've found the right person. Our soul mate is the one who makes our life come together." he said, and all the while Mycroft and I kept locking gazes and smiling knowingly, as if there were some secret we shared that was only for us.

"I know, havin' gotten to know you both that there have been trials and tribulations. But more than that I know you both are meant to be, bound by God or anythin' else you wanna believe in. And I haveta say I'm happier than heaven to be hear to join these two together in holy matrimony. The words of this holy book teach us how to live and love, but I believe that perhaps these two speak in a different language that love. So at this time, the groom will be makin' his own special vows." Brother John continued, and Mycroft turned to me, eyes wet and smile trembling in overwhelming emotion. My heart was racing fast, because I knew his words would mean more to me in this moment than any other words I might hear for the rest of my life. He heaved a sigh and I breathed in deep, still smiling at him and holding no expectation, giving him time to gather his words and convey his message in a way he found most fit.

"I have read many books in vain to find the words to convey love. This love. This love that I believed to be a fallacy, a hope for lesser people with no intelligence. But then I found them and wish to speak them to you now, and I imagine that though they are not my own, as always you will know how sincerely they are meant. My darling Charlotte Ruth, every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and in sickness it would still be dear. Your mind, your beautiful, brilliant mind, is my greatest treasure, and if it were broken it would be my treasure still. And on this day, before an audience of people neither we know nor regard, I vow to you that these words will always be so. I vow to forever banish the monsters and demons from your presence, and as I know your strength, I ask only that you allow me to load your gun with silver bullets when you need kill off the darkness that would seek to harm you. You have given me life, you have gifted me love without conditions, and you have salvaged a broken and cold man. I vow to return to you nothing short of unconditional love and my very best self. I vow to be your most devoted earthly companion and to pass through this life as your second self. I vow to allow our daughter to place a crown on my head and decorate my face with cosmetics, and to not be so stuffy as to not allow our son to make mud pies and run about in underwear and a super hero cape. Most of all I vow to be your safest haven, your most trusted confidante, your most devoted worshiper, all the days of my life and thereafter." he said, all the while tears spilling down his cheeks as he spoke. I was nearly to my knees with the weight of his words and truth, crying so much that I didn't care about my make up anymore or anything else. All I could feel in that moment was the force of his love like a powerful aftershock from an atomic bomb and yet, the peace that resounded within me made it soft and gentle.

I cleared my throat several times and did not fear that I had not prepared my vows. I knew that from speaking from my heart, raw and unrehearsed it would mean more to him. I kept smiling as I began by saying, "There is another quote from Charlotte Bronte I have always felt was directly correlated to us. And it is that from the first we met, I have the strangest feeling about you. Especially when you are near to me as you are now. It feels as though I had a string tied here under my left rib, where my heart is," and carefully I pulled my hand from his to rest it in that place, then returned stroking his knuckles with my thumb, "tightly knotted to you in a similar fashion. And when you go, I am afraid that this cord will be snapped, and I shall bleed inwardly. I vow to you, to never allow it to snap in either direction, and to guard it as preciously as I will forever guard your heart. I promise to share all of my struggles and secrets, just as you have and will share yours. I vow to do my very best to keep you healthy, and make you stay home so I can play nurse when you are unwell. I vow to be your freedom and calm, your fun and your place for quiet consolation. I vow to give you a life of happiness and passion, of love and excitement until even we can't stand without creaking and popping our bones. I will forever be grateful to you, appreciate you, and never to take you for granted. And even when my life runs out, I know my stardust will still call for yours and seek it out, for as long of time as there is vastness of the universe." I said to him. He smiled at me, laughter and joy in his eyes. He felt my words and struggled momentarily with his worth of them, but as he stared into my soul while I spoke, he found the peace and worth he'd so desperately sought.

Then the ceremony concluded with those two words I'd been so excited to say and then, "You may kiss the bride.". Mycroft grabbed me before Brother John had spoken the second word, and his lips had landed on mine well before the word 'bride' was uttered. Strangers all around cheered and sniffled, as my husband put his arm around my back and dipped me low and dramatically, causing me to smile around our kiss. At last, we were bound to one another by God, by promises to each other an by government. It felt as if the final piece had slipped into place and for the first time in both of our tormented lives we were whole and completely happy.


	75. Chapter 75

The ceremony had been perfect, better than any fairytale I could have ever imagined. And now I sat in a limousine, side legged across the lab of Mycroft Holmes: my husband. It was a word association I knew I would never tire of. As we kissed longingly in the backseat, he held me close and grasped me to him. As he lifted his hand to cradle my face in his hand, his palm brushed my breast through the fabric and steel bone and my breathing hitched immediately. I was so ready for tonight, to consummate our marriage and give him the special surprise he still had no idea of. I preened every time it occurred to me, Mycroft missed nothing and yet I could still throw him for a loop.

”Now, my darling wife, I’m afraid there is still a wedding reception of which we are expected to attend.” He told me softly, his finger touching the tip of my nose. I made a childish pout and he smiled adoringly before pulling me close and nibbling my ear lobe, “I can assure you of many carnal and pleasurous delights await us tonight.” And I groaned burying my face in his tux jacket. I’d love to have blamed my wanton lust on my hormones but to be fair, I’d always been pretty naughty when it came to Mycroft. The man could melt and turn me on with merely a look.

I was unreasonably excited when we arrived back at our hotel, but quickly realized it was because our reception would be held on the rooftop. Mycroft explained that when the night was done he had no desire to venture too far to have his wicked way with me. The man just wasn’t playing fair anymore.

The rooftop was decorated with round tables covered in rose gold sequin cloths. Fairy lights and candles adorned every pillar and tree planted neatly amongst the paved stones. Tall, gold candelabras stood on the surface of tables and the bar, round bouquets of pink peonies atop each one. He had certainly gone to great lengths to make every detail absolutely perfect. I was again, in awe and amazed at everything around me. Random hotel guests were dressed in their formal wear, turning to us excitedly as we paused just past the doorway leading to the rooftop. And then a voice I’d never imagined began to speak.

”Madames and Monsiers, please assist me in welcoming and introducing for the first time: Mr. and Mrs. Mycroft Holmes!” with a flourish Mycroft opened the glass paned door and we looked around to smiling faces and a welcoming round of applause. But the one person there that wasn’t a stranger had all of my attention. All dark hair and brown skin, Kendrick held a glass of champagne in his hand and smiled at me adoringly. I squealed and released my husband’s hand to run into his arms. He set his glass on a nearby surface to catch my embrace, lifting my feet from the ground as he held me close.

”Congratulations, Dorothy! My little steel magnolia!” he whispered in my ear. I was already crying again, tears of joy and delight. When he set me back right I held his biceps in my hands and shook my head, “Ken, how are you- how did you-?” I asked baffled. He gave me a sly wink and gestured over my shoulder to Mycroft. Of course. Mycroft joined me, placing his hand on my lower back, and Quincey appeared at Kendrick’s side. We shared a secret smile, acknowledging the happy and healthy glow of love that had healed us when we were broken beyond repair. It was a joyous day indeed.

”He’s a good one, that wizard. He made sure Quincey and I made it out here. There was a slight flight delay so we missed the ceremony.” Kendrick explained, winking at Mycroft.

”Had to make sure this handsome prince made it to serenade your first dance.” Quincey said, putting an arm affectionately around my best friend. I smiled and laughed, hugging Mycroft happily.

”Thank you, so very much my beloved.” I whispered to him. He didn’t say a word, just held me firmly and close to him. He started to sway as music began to play from the band. I looked over to see Kendrick had made his way to the platform serving as a stage and he began singing as my eyes found the sapphire blue of my husband’s.

_“This is my love song to you,_

_Let every woman know I’m yours_

_So you can fall asleep each night, babe._

_And know I’m dreaming of you more._

_You’re always hoping that we’ll make it,_

_You always wanna keep my gaze._

_Well you’re the only one I see_

_And that’s the one thing that wont change._

_l’ll never stop trying_

_I’ll never stop watching as you leave_

_I’ll never stop losing my breath_

_Every time I see you looking back at me_

_I’ll never stop holding your hand_

_I’ll never stop opening your door_

_I’ll never stop choosing you babe_

_I’ll never get used to you_

_And with this love song to you_

_It’s not a momentary phase_

_You are my life, I don’t deserve you_

_But you love me just the same_

_And as the mirror says we’re older_

_I want to look the other way_

_You are my life, my love, my only_

_And that’s the one thing that won’t change_

The song, the lyrics touched me beyond measure. And for that moment, all of Paris was quiet and still, as if the entire metropolis of it was sighing and quieting for us. Time itself always seemed to be still for Mycroft and I. His hands were warm and comforting around me, his feet leading me in a perfect waltz. As he took me into a turn, it felt as if a cloud had come down from the heavens to escort us into the skies. Dancing with him was like being in a dream, and all around nothing else mattered but the hold of his eyes and long fingered hands. I felt a warm glow erupting from my center and settling all around me. I had never known this feeling, pure joy.

After our first dance, more champagne was served as well as a tray of decadent desserts, gorgeous petit fours, tea cakes, crème brulee, an assortment of pies and tiramisu. I was delighted at the array of sweets and smiled happily at my husband, a smile he returned just as affectionately if not more so. I had never seen him so happy, doubted anyone in his life had ever seen his face light up so. He was serious, stoic, impervious to things around him. But not in this moment, not today.

My sweet Mycroft still tried to abide by tradition, and sweetly let me feed him cake. I teased him affectionately, asked him to smell it first to see if it smelled funny. Oblivious, he obliged and moments later I was kissing frosting from his sweet nose and mouth. For a moment he pouted and rolled his eyes, giving me a look like he gave Sherlock, both of irritation and disappointment. I felt my heart drop when suddenly, he shoved a rather large portion of a petit four directly at me, clogging my nose and smearing my lips with cake. He laughed out loud pointing at me and shaking his head. I giggled before running to him and sharing my new edible make up, rubbing my nose all over his cheeks. He didn't pull away though, merely leaned in bringing his arms around me tight and squeezing me close. I stopped then, looking deep into his eyes and touching the hair at his nape, "I love you so deeply." I whispered to him. The words touched him, his eyes squinting and light sparkles of tears gathering in them. He hugged me close again, and suddenly we were slow dancing.


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I was a little nervous writing this, unsure joe you guys might respond and all that. So please be honest. I know it’s a little taboo and maybe not everyone’s cup of tea.
> 
> However, Imaginging Mycroft orgasming just... really does it for me!

The night was dreamy and beautiful, and carried on with merriment and celebration. Eventually we had cleaned the sugar and confection from our faces. I’d catch my beloved’s gaze, or he would catch mine and we’d share the smile of two people that were overjoyed at the same secret that only they knew. He would be near to me, stealing kisses against my ear and tenderly his hand would brush my womb, his palm pressing just there as if he could not wait for it to grow. I was moved and touched, consumed with a burning fire and love. My life was suddenly so beautiful and magical, and I’d be sharing all of it with my soul mate.

I was conversing happily with Kendrick when Mycroft touched me right on my lower back and whispered low into my ear, “I believe we should retire and consummate our wedding bed.” I felt the hairs standing on the back of my neck in delight and glee, and I blushed furiously. My libido kicked up immediately, having been waiting on this very moment. I eyed Kendrick and he lifted his eyebrows picking up on my look. He took to the stage and began a Postmodern Jukebox version of Halo. A round of applause began, and hand in hand Mycroft and I waved before pulling one another back through the glass pane door.

I could take scotch on his breath and could tell Mycroft was just a tad tipsy. I was glad, because I needed him well and relaxed for what I had planned for tonight. We were kissing and touching all over as we stumbled passionately down the hall, trying to make it to our room but unwilling to break any kind of contact with one another. Every fiber of my existence felt on fire with need and desire, my thighs were trembling and my lips were wet with desire. I giggled as Mycroft struggled with our key card, my hands venturing on the satin of his tuxedo pants as I massaged his long thick member through the fabric. I heard a groan in his throat as I did and it turned me on even more.

The door had hardly clicked closed before he pulled his bow tie and tore it from his collar. It flung across the room as he made quick work of his buttons. “I need every inch of my flesh pressed to every bare inch of yours.” He told me, eyes dark and hungry. I laid my veil on the night table as I unbuttoned the lace cuff sleeves of my dress. My hands shook with eagerness and a small shot of anxiety, but what I wore beneath my gown was fine lingerie and it made me feel daring, sexy. I slid my jewelry off and turned to place it on a nearby surface, and before I could turn around, Mycroft was naked standing behind me, his fingers finding the buttons of my gown.

”Did you mean to challenge me my darling?” he asked as he tugged the buttons through their many respective loops. I smiled coyly and batted my lashes just over my shoulder. He growled and suddenly the lace and tulle was pooling at my feet, my form clad in white lace. Candlelight danced off of my skin, starlight twinkled in the distance as all of Paris seemed to surround us and grow quiet. When I turned to him, I watched his eyes widen as he took in the expensive scraps of material concealing my most intimate parts. I backed him to the bed, my palm still firmly against his chest, he seemed to be in a trance, a state of awe.

As I straddled him, my knees sliding with ease against the silky soft bedding, his head brushed my tender, wet lips aching for his penetration. I kissed his lips and massaged him as I did, stroking his length with my hands and the warm wet place between my legs. I could tell he was dizzy with lust and longing, just as I had wanted him to be. I slid to my knees and began caressing his thighs, my nails delicately tickling his skin as his head bobbed in front of my mouth. Carefully I kissed the tip and slowly took him in, pulling in my cheeks and sheathing my teeth with my tongue. My tongue massaged in waves as I took him deeper and suddenly felt his hands tangling in my hair as he cried out.

I worked Mycroft a long moment, massaging him with my tongue and rolling it against the underside of his length. He tasted fresh and clean, smooth and hard steel in my mouth. I was happy to hear his groans as I continued to suck and caress him. I kept my hands busy, fondling him and caressing his thighs in soft movements. Without warning he jerked from my grasp, lifting me up to my feet with his hands gently on my arms. I was slightly put out before I felt his labored breathing fanning my face and stared into his eyes nearly encased in black as his pupils swelled.

”Now now my bride. You shall force me to unman myself should you keep that up. I’d rather like a taste of you now.” he whispered against my lips before grabbing my waist and lifting me to the bed in a quick twirl. My thighs fell open and he pressed his palms to them, gently massaging my muscles there. I was so ready for him, quivering under his heated gaze as he slid my panties down my legs with aching slowness. I felt his fingers dancing over my opening first, the slickness causing them to slide around with ease. I whimpered and closed my eyes, reaching up to stroke his wrist to his forearm.

I felt myself jerk as his lips tenderly brushed against my outer lips, softly pressing kisses. His tongue barely protruded from his lips and I touched his head, running my fingers through his hair as I watched him slowly kiss me. His eyes were closed as he savored the flavor of me on his lips. Our eyes met as he inserted his index finger within me, my walls claiming it instantly as I tightened to hold him in. He smiled at me as he curled his finger in a come here motion, stroking my front wall and inner g-spot. I cried out instantly, giving him encouragement to place his mouth around my throbbing button.

His lips and tongue were giving me the perfect pulses and strokes of pressure. His finger curled over and over again, causing that sensation of the urge to pee building. I was practically screaming as I felt that pressure build. My lips trembled as I moaned, my breaths short gasps of delight as I tried to contain myself. He just felt so good, he knew my body like he knew the piano or any other musical instrument. Every touch, every press of his body and mouth was for my pleasure. I didn’t even have to tell him I was about to orgasm, he knew my body and knew my heart and mind.

”Give yourself over to me, darling. Give me what I desire…” he whispered and without another word I was soaking his finger as that pressure released itself and my orgasm ripped through me. I screamed as my entire body convulsed with mind bending pleasure and release. With not an ounce of shame he licked his finger and moaned before putting himself within me. I was still vibrating with aftershocks, his penetration prolonging my orgasm as I rippled my walls around his length. He was sheathed with in me completely, bending my legs so that my thighs were against my belly and my knees were near my shoulders. I was open and exposed as he watched himself sliding into me, his gaze fixated as he found pleasure in watching himself claim me.

Lost in ecstasy I nearly forgot my surprise. I lifted my palm to Mycroft’s chest and he stilled, letting my legs rest from where they were against my stomach.

”What is it my darling?” He asked. I reached to touch his hand and kissed his knuckles tenderly.

”I want to give you something. I cannot give you my virginity, though I really wish I had. But there is a part of me no man has ever had before, physically, though not for lack of effort. The truth is, I’d never really wanted to do this with just anyone. I need this to be with someone I trust, someone who knows my body and wont force it or pressure me. And it’s you.” I told him, breathless from where he remained inside of me. His brows furrowed as he stared down at me, my words not fully processing in his brilliant mind. I felt myself flushing from my chest to cheeks and ears.

”Do you remember that night in your office… when you bent me over your desk?” I asked finally.

”There isn’t a single encounter of our love making I have not memorized in perfect detail.” He uttered, breathless and yet confident. I smiled at him and felt his hips rock, causing my walls to squeeze him.

”You said one day, you would claim my ass… I am yours forever now, Mycroft. I want to share every part of my body with you.” I whispered, watching his eyes widen and his stare grow intense. He knew I meant it, every word carried weight, trust. Mycroft knew what this meant to me, and I hoped more than anything it meant the same to him. He leaned over me then, kissing me passionately, his mouth open and love pouring from the breath leaving his lips.

When he pulled back I felt him leave my wanting opening and slick with my juices his head bobbed between my cheeks. I relaxed completely as he kissed me between my legs and then stood over me again. In the past, when a boyfriend had coerced drunk me to try this, I had never felt safe or comfortable. They always tried to go too fast and never gave me time to adjust. But not Mycroft, he would never want to hurt me, never want me to associate our passion with pain. His eyes locked on my face so he could read me for signs of discomfort. His hands held my thighs to my torso firmly but not binding, exposing my bum to him.

Gingerly he used my moisture to slather his head and began to ease into that lower opening. There was a slight sting and he slowed instantly, breathing heavy with sweat beginning to mist his gorgeous body. I wanted this, and so with a nod once I felt I could handle more, he eased himself deeper. Only his head was inside me then, and while I acclimated to the unfamiliar intrusion, he massaged my button tenderly. I moaned and felt myself relax further, giving myself to the pleasure. With the patience of a saint he slid in delicately a little more.

”You are doing so well baby. I am so proud… so touched at your implicit trust in me.” He whispered. His words were a prayer of encouragement and I nodded my head again, lifting my ass slightly to allow him better access. He kept sliding in, slow and steady, stretching me and pausing to allow me to accept him deeper. I held my gaze with his, our eyes locked as my breathing remained steady and calm, the pain subsiding to discomfort and then, taboo pleasure. A whimper turned to a moan of delight and he kissed the arch of my foot. He was taking such tender care of me that I realized he was the most worthy person I had trusted ever, with my heart, with my hand in marriage, with my life.

Suddenly he stopped and I stared at him confused before he said, “I am completely within you…” and I smiled rather proud of myself. I could tell he was pleased with my little surprise wedding gift. He bent low to kiss me and as his lips and teeth grazed my nipple I felt his hips shift, testing if I was ready for movement. I moaned loudly at the sensation, encouraging him to thrust more. He obliged as he massaged me, one hand tugging my nipples as the other massaged my clit in perfectly precise pulses. I was whimpering and felt myself building as he thrust in and out of my ass, not leaving completely. The sounds he made were making me more hungry for another orgasm, animalistic moans that such a posh and perfect man would never be expected to make.

I was clawing tore the edge, feeling everything everywhere below my navel, nothing but intensity when bent low and whispered against my lips, “Shall I cum in your gorgeous arse my darling?”. Just as before those dirty words sent me into a tailspin and as he pressed my clit one more time I felt myself burst as my orgasm tore through me. As I came I heard a choked out roar from Mycroft, he hardened and lengthened within me as I felt his seed shoot into me. In that moment neither of us cared how loud we were, erotic as porn stars and yet none of it was fake or forced. Grasping my shoulders to pull my ass further onto his member he kept spurting into me, hot wet shots with his face screwed tight as he came like he could feel his soul leaving his body.


	77. Chapter 77

Mycroft eased from me and wrapped me in his arms as he lay us both further onto the bed. Panting and misty with sweat he kissed my forehead and brushed my hair from my temple. I was a tad teary eyed, the emotions in me so consuming and powerful like the force of a nuclear blast. Without looking at my face he reached down and thumbed away one of my tears, keeping his arms around me close and my face against his chest. He was tender and warm, lax in his muscles as he stroked my head and kept pressing small kisses against my brow.

When at last he regained coherency I heard him whisper, “Thank you, my beloved. You have given your true self to me graciously and without condition. I am incredibly humbled, for your worth is far greater to me than the whole of England. Your trust in me, belief and security, I am moved you have accepted that I will always, always care for you. Your body as my temple, your feelings as my own, your heart as a garden for me to foster and keep blooming.”

I smiled against his chest and pressed a tender kiss to his sternum, “Mycroft, what you have given me is far greater than anything I could have hoped for. To have longed to be loved for so long, because of what I went through as a child, but then to actually get it? I couldn’t have imagined I’d be so lucky. I want to reciprocate every day for what you have done for me.” I whispered to him, drawing tiny circles on his skin with my fingertips. I heard him hum softly, and for a moment, we were encased in the sensation of listening and feeling one another breathe. It was peaceful and beautiful.

We spent most of the night kissing and simply lying there and holding one another. We talked endlessly about our life together, how far our love story had come. Mycroft, was thrilled about the baby, and I found great comfort in his joy. “I know you are concerned of the possibility this pregnancy may fail, it is incredibly common with first time mothers. However, I would be quite more than enthused to try again… for you would be the most incredible mother.” He whispered to me, and in that moment, the world stood still. His words were full of sentiment and understanding, calm and sure that no matter the outcome, all would be well. I squeezed him tighter then, breathing in his smell as he curled around me, tucking his face deep into my neck and hair. Sighing we grew quiet afterwards and let sleep take us away.

I awoke to sweet kisses against my ear and neck, playful nibbles and warm arms encasing me with tenderness and strength. I could feel Mycroft’s lips pulled into my secret smile as he blew delicately on my ear. I giggled as he leaned over me and my eyes opened, a boyish grin on his face and deep red hair a mess. I ran my hand down his cheek and mouthed good morning. He kissed me on the lips before working his way down my collar bones. I groaned hungrily just as his teeth grazed my nipple. A girl could definitely get used to waking up like this. I closed my eyes as he worked his way lower.

”I should mention, I have theorized the current state of your hormones have made your dew sweeter. I shall have to complete several observation tests to confirm this hypothesis.” He whispered to me, just as his dark blue eyes darted to my green ones and his lips reached my pelvis. I blushed slightly and quirked an eyebrow. I was certain he was going mad to a degree but nevertheless, I really wanted him to go further.

”Well, far be it from me to hinder science.” I said, but instead of playful my voice came out thick and desperate, husky for what his lips promised and gave without fail. He grinned wickedly before placing his hand just between my belly button and pelvic bone.

Mycroft did not take his time with me that morning, instead he went down on me with fervor and with a mission in mind. Before I was even fully awake I was moaning out a delightful orgasm, but he didn’t stop there as I felt my thigh shaking and my hands tangling in his dark red hair. He kept his tongue dipping inside of me, tasting in my inner walls and tugging on my bud affectionately with his perfect lips. My hands found my hair as I tried to stay grounded during his onslaught. I was crying out and felt another wave surging inside of me.

“My- Mycroft I’m going- I’m going to- a-again.” I whined with my back arching from the bed. He merely smiled at me wickedly as his eyes found mine and he inserted his perfect long digit. I felt it in that sweet place just against my front wall and without another word I was releasing again. I clawed at the sheets and felt my breathing hitch to moans and cries of delight. The sensitivity from the first orgasm causing me to be overcome with pleasure. My body felt as if it had been electrified sweetly, all of me shaking and trembling in aftershocks. I thought I might never stop, until finally he eased from between my legs to allow me to breathe.

“In me… now.” I commanded incoherently and he smiled and shook his head.

“My darling wife you know how privy I am to cleanliness and your sexual health. I must shower before penetrating your perfect form.” He said and I rolled my eyes. He was right of course, and so incredibly thoughtful. My libido however wasn’t pleased, because while I loved the way he serviced me orally, there was no comparison to the union of his length within me. It felt like completeness when he filled me with his generous girth and length, coming around him was pure bliss. As gentlemanly as ever, he extended his hand and I took it without question as he lead me into the expansive bathroom. Deliately he kissed my ear as he turned on the massive shower for us and checked for towels on the warming rack.

I had to admit the shower was soothing and refreshing, the day before having been a tad exhausting. We washed each other affectionately and giggled as wed covered the other with suds. There wasn’t a single moment I didn’t feel happy with him, a single sad thought couldn’t have tainted even our most domestic and dull activities. It was why I smiled every minute of the day to the point I felt my cheeks beginning to hurt. But I didn’t care. Not one bit. As Mycroft caressed my ribs he knealt before me under the fall of water and cradled his hands around my belly button. Then with a deep inhale through his nose he kissed me delicately there and gazed with a furrowed brow at my womb.

”How I wonder, little one, what you will become. I shall hope based on genetic codes my nose is none too dominant. Your mother’s eyes are the most beautiful emerald kissed green, with my blue there is a fair chance you shall inherit her eyes. I shall encourage you to inherit those as they are beyond precious and full of peace, unconditional love, and intelligence beyond measure. I shall think the only inheritance of mine you shall receive is my sur name, I wish nothing else on you from me I’m afraid.” He whispered. I was immediately touched, running my hands across the sides of his hair. How this man could move me with his words, just as he had from when we first met.

He stood to continue rinsing off and from behind him I reached to hold him, resting my cheek against his strong and straight back. “I should wish your heart on this baby, your perfectly imperfect nose. I think your eyes are more beautiful than the finest sapphires, and a blessing to any child we may share. But more than anything in this world, I believe the greatest gift this child will receive is having you for a father.” I whispered and he stilled in my arms. He touched where my arms held his torso and carefully he turned. The water from the shower tried to hide his tears but I saw them there with the redness of his lids and the tremble of his lip. I looked up at him and smiled a small smile cradling his cheek. I had meant every word and he knew it without a shadow of a doubt. Perhaps he was nervous of his possible parenting kills due to the fallout he had with his own recently. Whatever the reason, I made it my conscious duty to remind him everyday from here on out how wonderful he was.


	78. Chapter 78

Once showered and dried off, Mycroft and I began readying ourselves for the day. In sync we moved about the hotel room, gathering our neatly hung clothes from the wardrobe, laying out undergarments. We were in such a harmonious state no matter if we were in the comfort of our town house, the country house, or a grand suite in Paris. I checked my phone to find the day was anticipated to be warm, and dressed in a pale pink sun dress, with ballerina skirt and tank top style bodice. Carefully I slid my feet into nude flats and in the bathroom mirror, twisted my hair into a secure bun with small fly aways. From the reflection I found Mycroft watching me with his small secret smile as I began applying light foundation and blush.

As I began my mascara he appeared behind me, hands circling my waist and resting below my hips. Eyes closed in tenderness he kissed my shoulder and neck, and as I watched him I noticed the love and devotion he expressed as he did these things. The warmth from his palms flooded through my skin and clothes, and all at once I felt peace deep in my soul. He loved me, he loved me so much and I was certain no matter how many years passed I might never grow accustomed to such love. With the world he was commanding, arrogant, all powerful, controlling. With me, Mycroft was devoted and soft, kind and loving, he was a delicate hand guiding me while still allowing me to be my own person. It made me feel precious and special, and a man like Mycroft Holmes giving you such a feeling was at times daunting. But I reminded myself this was the love I deserved.

”Are you feeling well, my beloved? I want to ensure our plans will not exhaust you.” He said to me as he held me and I swiped on a bit of tinted chapstick. I smiled at him, grinning and placing the tube in my travel make up case. I turned resting my lower back against the counter, my arms snaking up his perfectly long arms. My hands rested against the back of his neck and our eyes were connected, locked with one anothers.

”I feel really good, in fact. I can’t wait to spend this day with you. And every day ever after.” I told him, leaning up on my tip toes to kiss his nose. He smiled fully then, his eyes shimmering with unadulterated joy. Carefully, he pulled away extending his hand and said, “Well we should certainly begin our day with breakfast. I shall not have my wife skipping meals to any degree. We have plenty of time.” He told me. I realized then I was quite famished and ready for food, so skipping to where he stood I took his long fingered hand in mine and allowed him to lead the way. Just as we stepped from the hotel room I grabbed my matching nude wristlet holding my phone and followed his lead down the hallway.

The hotel served a delicious French breakfast, and I delighted in the rich chocolate drizzled over crepes filled with fresh strawberries. The bacon was thick and salty and Myroft indulged in eggs and a bite of my crepes. We laughed and talked as we always had, as if we were the only two people on the planet. It was what I had felt since first he and I met, as if every other person around me was black and white, whilst Mycroft was pure technicolor. My attention was pulled away when the waiter arrived with a silver dessert plate holding a few bright colored pills. I gave my husband a puzzling look with a pucker between my brows, but he merely smiled.

I spoke with London’s best obstetrician and she recommended it was none too early to begin a regiment of prenatal vitamins. We may interview various doctors and you may choose the one of your preference. I merely wished to gain a head start, as the good doctor informed it was too early for an appointment.” He answered. Shrugging my shoulders slightly I swallowed them and chased the large shapes with my orange juice. He was so caring, thoughtful, and while the entire world relied on his presence he always ensured me I came first. It was touching and for a brief moment I felt tears welling in my eyes. Clearly, it wasn’t too early for hormones to make me a blubbering mess.

Once stuffed with breakfast, Mycroft stood from his seat across from me and extended his hand in his classic gentlemanly manner. I bit my lip smiling as I took it, excited and giddy to be wed to him and knowing adventure was to be had today. With tenderness I was guided to a vintage white rolls Royce waiting for us and the driver held the door. Easing inside of the backseat I could not stop my smile. Mycroft held my hand still as it pulled away down the street, his posture turned to face me with a delighted smile. It amazed me how in this moment he filled out his perfectly custom tailored suit and yet, his eyes were filled with mischief and his smile wide with boyish delight.

Leaning over to my ear affectionately he whispered, “Do close your eyes, my darling wife.” And with a giggle I did so. I heard a shuffle of his hands beneath the seat, plastic rustling and then his hands were away from mine. I felt a sort of headband sliding against the back of my ears and the temptation to open my eyes was overwhelming. Still, I had no desire to ruin the surprise he was so delighted to share with me so I squinted them tighter. My foot bounced impatiently on the floor of the vehicle as I waited for what felt like too many minutes to count.

”Now let me take sight of those bright emeralds.” He said to me, and when I did the sight before me sent me into a fit of giggles. Sitting upon that perfectly deep red hair was a pair of Mickey mouse ears, a small top hat sitting between them with the words groom emblazoned on them. I felt up around my own ballerina bun and there I registered two round circles dotted with hard stones, a thin veil hanging over the back of my head. I put my hands to my mouth as I laughed aloud and clapped my hands in girlish delight. Then, I leaned over and kissed his lips holding his hands and then quickly taking out my mobile phone. Mycroft, as ever, indulged me and we took a darling selfie.

”If memory serves, and as we know mine does incredibly well, Disneyland Paris is a dream of yours?” he asked.

”Oh yes, Mycroft!” I answered, struggling to form a legitimate sentence and catch my breath as the excitement caused my chest to swell as if it were filling with helium.

”I have striven to ensure you have a magical day my darling. I am no royal, but you are certainly now my Queen. And as such you shall be given the most magical day possible.” He said and I immediately leaned over again, cupping his chin and kissing him deeply. “I love you so very much, darlin’” I whispered against his mouth. His breathing hitched then, as he consumed my words as oxygen and hugged me close, our ears touching abruptly causing both of us to laugh affectionately.


	79. Chapter 79

Upon arrival at the beloved theme part, Mycroft took my hand and escorted me from the car. I was giddy again and giggled happily every time he looked at me with those adorable mouse ears. As I readied to stand in line with the other patrons, he took my hand and pulled me to an exclusive entrance where a concierge released a rope under a grand doorway. When I looked at him questioning, he merely tapped the side of his nose and gave me a cheeky wink, all the while his left hand remaining in mine. I felt a twinge of guilt for the special treatment, but as I was in the happiest place on Earth that feeling was fleeting. I knew Mycroft would have paid extra for a VIP package for the day and I also knew how charitable most of his work was, I figured it was an even trade.

As we entered the pathway leading to the grand castle, sweet and delicious smells filled the air and a warm breeze was all around us mixed with happy music. I felt like I did every time I finished a performance, high and happy and completely fulfilled. As I looked over at my husband, gone was the stuffy and uptight business man and diplomat. Instead, there was a man indulging in boyish delight and perhaps the fantasy of magic. It warmed my heart because I knew, with Eurus and Sherlock, Mycroft had to grow up fast and had never really entertained any possibility of fairy tales, magic and princesses or pirates. It made me sad but also happy that I could, for the first time show him some fun and enchantment. I wanted this day to be as special for him as he had striven to make it for me.

As we explored the park, the photographers snapped wonderful pictures of us, and lots of people around would smile at us and wave in congratulations. I felt like a real princess, with my perfect prince charming by my side. The only disappointment of the day was the reminder I could not ride rollercoasters, but that was overshadowed by Mycroft’s joy at my pregnancy. He perused each and every shop for the perfect gift for our baby, something gender neutral and perfect. Eventually he settled on a crystal carousel that was of course expensive and delicate, yet beautiful and magical. He smiled down at me as he held it in his hands and whispered, “I’d like to place this in our home, in the nursery… together.” And as he spoke I saw the tears well in his eyes.

They say how time flies when you are having fun, but not for Mycroft and I. We kept a leisurely pace as we explored Disneyland, laughing and talking, indulging in sweets and lemonades of all kinds. We met characters and I watched him listen to what they would say with a constant smile on his face. I was afraid he would find it all bit silly, instead he was quite endeared with the princesses and others. Not to mention, Tinker Bell clearly had a bit of a flirtatious chat with him, which he merely laughed off his arm on my waist pulling me close to his side.

The hours waned in fun shows, Beauty and the Beast in actual French being one of my favorites, slow boat rides through It’s a Small World and other easy kiddie rides. Mycroft’s smile never faltered, and now and again I would catch him reaching for my belly as if he could feel something there already. It was touching and moving, bringing a small mist of tears to my lids each time. I’d blink them back fast, overcome with my intense love and passion for him, and the undeniable truth that he returned it ten fold and without conditions. When twilight began to settle across the park, he took my hand and began leading back towards the entrance, and I found myself wondering if we were retiring back to the hotel. Surely he was slightly exhausted from our busy day of walking miles upon miles.

We approached the arched pavilion beneath the castle and I saw a doorman open a door for us. Mycroft approached him and smiled, before he turned on his heel and extended his palm for me to lead the way. My hand flew to my heart as my mouth fell open. I pointed and my eyebrows lifted in question and surprise. My beloved merely smiled and nodded, and in a trance of childlike wonder I entered the doorway to a royal wing with Disney themed carpeting And tapestries. I heard the door close with a thud and he was again by my side clutching my hand in his. We ascended various staircases, and on the landing of each one of them was a butler waiting with a red rose. I smiled affectionately but Mycroft remained silent and stoic, grinning devilishly as if he knew some big secret I did not. I was growing anxious as we must have been close to the top of Sleeping Beauty’s castle and finally, he stopped before a doorway.

”I felt it pertinent you see the Dreams fireworks sequence from the most spectacular vantage point.” He told me, opening the door with a wide smile and walking out of sight. I could see the inky night sky and with careful steps I found myself standing on a tower balcony that overlooked the entirety of the park. All around were pillars of sparkling glass holding candles and pink rose petals and glitter adorned the floor. Mycroft held his hands behind his back as I laughed and cried, placing the back of my palm against my mouth. I was awestruck and felt if I really let everything out I might never stop crying. As ever his timing was impeccable, because as I half ran to close the distance between us, the exact moment I flew into his arms and kissed him deeply the first sounds of the orchestra began and the fireworks began around us. We remained in a deep kiss, tongues dancing and smiles pulling at the corners of our lips as we did until at last we needed breath.

”Knowing how brilliantly you tend to ponder many of my actions, I wish you to know that I see fireworks, feel them here in my very chest every time you press your lips to mine.” He whispered to me, his eyes closed tight and his lips still so close to mine.

As the story unfolded around us we smiled simply gazing into each other’s eyes. Then Mycroft turned me as I braced my palms on the railing of the tower, encasing me in his arms and resting his chin on the top of my head. I gasped and sighed at the spectacular show of burning colors and lights, and his hips swayed mine as the music took over. I closed my eyes only a moment to breathe in deep and feel the magic brought by his love, enhanced in this moment. It was beautiful and if it weren’t for his heartbeat pounding through his shirt front, I might have thought I was dreaming. I kissed his hand as I slowly turned to him then.

With my arms reached to him, Mycroft’s hand rested on the small of my back and he led me into a graceful waltz. We were two lovers on top of the world, the music swaying us as he led me into spins and twirls, ever the graceful dancer and gentleman. Just one of the many qualities I adored in him. Truth be told, there were many facets to Mycroft that I could behold with wonder and devotion, impeccable manners, brilliant mind, the certainty with which he spoke. And yet, no matter how wonderful he looked in his custom suit or how well he could sweep me off of my feet in a dance, it would forever be his heart I was infatuated with. As the last of the fire works ended we watched in awe and then, we were kissing as he dipped me low and m hungry hands roamed over his jacket front.

Inside the car we rode back to the hotel in comfortable silence, and I rested my head on my husband’s shoulder. He took the opportunity to answer a few e-mails and do some mobile work. I didn’t mind too terribly, he’d given me his full attention constantly as of late. I knew how to get it back as well, once we returned to our bedroom. With a sly grin I nuzzled my face against his jacket under his warm arm and before I could catch myself I was sleeping soundly.

I felt myself being scooped up and as feather light as his touch was I wrapped my arms around his neck as Mycroft carried me through the entrance doors. I protested but he would not put me down until we were outside of our suite and he had to gather the hotel key to open the door. Our room was cool and welcoming, clean and the bed freshly made. I sighed happily as I looked up at Mycroft as he gazed once again at his phone screen. I quirked an eyebrow and then smiled.

”I’m going to go freshen up, handsome.” I said and wondered into the powder room.


	80. Chapter 80

I had a new array of fine lingerie to choose from thanks to my doting husband and his appetite for me. I perused through the boxes lined with soft tissue paper searching for something soft and sexy. Amongst the various parcels I found a delicate piece of fine ivory French lace, the top portion a front fastening bra. Lace cris-crossed over my torso in bands down my sides, giving way to a long sheer skirt piece, slits on either sides up to my hips. The vanilla coloring showed off my ever present tan and in the mirror I spritzed Chanel mademoiselle near my ears, and untied my ballerina bun. Dark hair fell down my back and shoulders in thick tendrils, slight crinkles looking like curls towards the ends. Satisfied with the passionate and sexy woman I saw in my reflection, I eased from the bathroom.

I reached for my phone and it was already connected to the blue tooth sound system, and softly the song Ride by SoMo started playing, Mycroft’s head lifting from his phone screen. I watched as his lips parted and his pupils dilated. It seemed as if he was frozen, the device in his palm, his gaze fixated upon me causing all of my hairs to stand on end. With the same rhythm of the song approached the bedside, sliding his mobile from his hand as I did, easing it to the night stand nearby. I watched as only his eyes looked over my hips and legs peaking from the slits in the fabric. Placing my hand on his chest I leaned down to kiss him, and with only a puff of breath to his lips I pulled away. His expression was immediately pained.

I softened the blow by leaning down again, my tongue darting to his bottom lip, then grazed that plush pink skin with my teeth. He groaned beneath me, a noise I was certain I had not heard from him as of yet. With my palm pressed to his chest I lifted one leg over the bed and his lean torso, the other one bending to tuck against him. With careful slowness I began to release his shirt buttons, grinding my lips against his hard erection pressed against his belly. I rolled my hips as his shirt flew to the floor. With lashes fluttering I kissed down his neck, nipping lightly as I worked my way to his chest and then his belly. He ran his hand through my hair as I worked down to the front of his trousers. As my fingers grasped his zipper and pulled it with aching slowness he touched my cheek, wrapping my hair in his fingers as he did. It gave me pause and I stared intently into those sapphire blue crystals.

”You are most certainly an ethereal entity… an angel.” He whispered, breathless and panting with need. I smiled at him as I slid the material over his long legs and with a flourish dropped them to the floor. I massaged his feet a moment, working my hands up his calves and thighs with firm compresses by my fingertips. He groaned happily then, closing his eyes as he rested his head on the pillow a bit further. I used the distraction to remove his under garment and quickly transferred my hands to his length, my massage becoming purposeful with long strokes. His eyes opened quickly then, and I eased over him. My breasts were nearly tumbling from the lingerie and he kissed them as I continued to massage him. When his eyes met mine again I gave him a sideways grin, moving the fabric below my waist to the side.

I angled his tip facing my folds, not touching them yet and leaned my mouth down to his parted lips. I synchronized my hips with my mouth then, my tongue dancing out to reach his as his head dipped into my slick opening. Then I retracted both and felt him shiver. I was close to him again, my breath filling his mouth and vice versa, his member mimicking the motion massaging my folds and dripping with my slickness. I pulled away again and saw fire in his eyes, the raw desire and frustration. Mycroft was certainly never a man to be denied the thing he wanted. With finality, I gave him his wish, my mouth fully on his as my tongue darted within and I began sliding down his length. I felt his fingers applying pressure to my back as I kept going, sliding down him as he filled me in the way that only he could.

I grabbed the back of his neck as my opposite hand found purchase on his shoulder, trembling as I hit his pelvis softly and relished in the joining of our bodies. It was heavenly and I through my head back as his hands pressed the lace aside to grip both sides of my ass. I took control, slowly easing him from me, my knees shaking as he slide from me, my inner walls tightening with remorse to let him go. Slowly I let my weight carry me back down, pressing into him as I rolled my hips with him in me. He cried out in ecstasy, his head pushing deeper into the pillows as he licked his lips and furrowed his brow in restraint. He was giving me full control, merely bracing his hands on me to keep himself somewhat grounded, and yet as I rose and fell over him achingly slow and savoring every penetration I could see he was losing himself in our passion.

I leaned down to kiss his chest and trace his fine red hairs with my nails when he asked, “May I?” His long fingered hands on my ass still. I nodded demurely and in one swift motion I was on my back, but Mycroft never left my body. He began to grind his hips, flexing his rear to drive his head against my sweet spot. He began tenderly, barely pressing into that inner place. I whimpered and he increased the pressure but never his pace, slow and steady. We were so close, so consumed with one another as he lay over me that there was barely space enough between us for him to move in and out of me. Our eyes remained locked as he breathed into my mouth on his exhale, and I breathed him in on my inhale. In this moment we were each other’s air supply, our bodies completely one. His hands slid the lace of my bust from my shoulders freeing my breasts. They bounced with each hard and slow thrust.

The sensation came over me suddenly, that tingling sparkle from low in my belly. I gripped the short hair at his nape hard and his eyes read mine instantly. I felt him hardening and he was struggling to hold back his orgasm too. Suddenly his hands found mine, our palms touching as he slid them above my head. Our lips connected as I felt my pleasure tearing through me like a mixture of wild fire and electric shocks, every inch of my skin seeming to tremble with pleasure. I trembled as he released within me, his hips slowing, then jerking sporadically. He stilled on top of me, cradling my head in his hands as we both closed our eyes. I felt his heart against my breasts beating hard and fast, and I knew he could feel mine fluttering against his bare skin. I felt tears prick my eyes, because I was completely at peace and satisfied, and this man, this beautiful man loved me so eternally and unconditionally, so for a long moment, we held one another, our arms tangled up around one another.

At some point, our breathing slowed, and with tenderness Mycroft moved me up the bed and pulled the comforter back. With my back flush to his chest he cradled me close, his arm under my breasts as he held me close. Sleepily he nuzzled my hair and I felt his breath on my neck. It was in this moment, I had never been more grateful I had survived every scar, every ounce of pain and hurt from my past. Because how could I ever hate a path that brought me here? I was grateful to be alive in this exact moment just to feel him do something as human as breathe. Fingers tracing over his forearm I felt myself drifting off.

I slept soundly all through the night as Mycroft’s arms remained locked around me, one under the curve of my waist, the other across my breasts. My back was pressed completely flush against his chest, and his heartbeat reverberated through my back in a strong, steady rhythm. Neither of us twitched or moved as we breathed evenly and deep. I had always slept so soundly in his arms, as if my very soul knew it was safe and cared for.

As the morning hours waned we stirred and Mycroft rolled me onto my back as I opened my eyes. I found his fingers brushing my bangs from my forehead as he smiled down with me in pure delight. I leaned up to kiss his lips as his hands dance over my flesh in soft strokes. It was soft and comforting. I stretched languidly beneath him before leaning up on one elbow and grasping his cheek in my hand I pulled him down for an intimate and tender kiss. I was a beautiful morning with sunlight flooding the room and dancing off of the barely visible freckles on his cheeks, painting his hair of dark ruby with fire. My he was a beautiful man.

”What would you like to do today my darling?” he asked me as we parted for breath. I smiled because I honestly could not have cared less if we had stayed in that bed all day. Delicately, I shrugged my shoulders and looked up at him happily. He looked down at me surprised with a secret smile, one eyebrow lifted as he stared at my face a long moment. Then he seemed to ponder a thought for a moment.

Finally, he said “I have monitored the political climate carefully and thought perhaps we may take a tour of Greece. There are a great many private beaches and I am fully aware of the way in which my Southern Magnolia adores her sunshine, sand and ocean.” He said, nuzzling his nose against mine playfully. I squealed happily and through my arms around him. I had, of course dreamt of visiting Greece for much of my life and was thrilled at the prospect of travelling more. I had certainly gone far for a small town Savannah girl.


	81. Chapter 81

And just like that, we arrived in Athens to the prettiest summer weather I’d ever experienced. I wore a floppy sun hat and wedges, a bright yellow sundress and Mycroft donned jeans and a sharp looking sports polo. Immediately my hands flew to my mouth as I took in the views and city scape. It was breathtaking in all of its glory and the romance beamed down from the sunshine and blue sky drenching everything it touched. It was the perfect honeymoon destination, even compared to Paris. As always, Mycroft was watching me, his eyes taking in my joy behind his Persol sunglasses. He grinned at my delight, knowing he had taken me to places beyond my wildest dreams.

To my utter surprise he hiked a leg over a two person Vespa of bright blue and passed a helmet to me. I put it on in a giddy state and hiked my leg elegantly over the back of where he sat, bracing my arms around his waist. Immediately I was drunk on the touch of his soft shirt, high on the smell of his cologne and sandalwood. I nipped playfully at his shoulder as he started the little engine and gave me a cheeky wink and grin over his shoulder. I couldn’t wait to get more of him tonight.

Mycroft navigated the streets as if this were his home, as if this were a daily commute. I was in awe of his capabilities he displayed, finding him brilliant in every minute. He was careful to miss any potholes or bumps in the road, our delicate love resting in my womb and hopefully growing. I felt free and alive as stray strands of my hair whipped out of my helmet, my sun hat clutched in my hand against Mycroft’s middle. I felt alive, like the first time I stepped on a stage and sang my heart out. Everything felt like pure magic.

Our first stop was the Parthenon which was strangely void of visitors. In fact, there were none at all, and with a knowing smile I knew it had been arranged to be so. We sat on the stone stairs within as I marveled at the historic beauty. Mycroft took pictures and even turned the camera for a selfie. I was amazed and touched, because I knew he didn’t do that sort of thing. Pictures of me were fine but he always said he never cared to be in them and potentially ruin the shot. It made me mad usually, since I found his looks to be so breathtaking. Even so, it seemed he was adjusting and feeling more inclined to include himself. After all, these moments were so special and only ours.

After a moment of gazing, he pulled a small book from his pocket and I found myself wondering what on Earth it could be. In my hands was a copy of Antigone, my favorite play. My heart flew to my chest and I smiled at him brilliantly.

”If it is not too troublesome for you my darling, I should like to hear you read from this work. I find it relaxes me immensely. And you have not performed in too long a while.” He said. I threw my arms around him as he caught me and I lay against his torso dancing kisses on his beautiful sweet face.

”I’d be more than happy to.” And with that I began reading, sitting by his side at first and then, standing to perform the heroin’s best lines. The passion came flooding through me as I continued reading, my lover leaned on his elbow in a laxed pose, a smile pulling at his lips. I paused as a notion hit me and he looked at me over the frame of his glasses, twisting his wedding band affectionately. I sat beside him and took his hand in mine, garnering his full attention as I did.

”If it’s a girl, could we name her Antigone?” I asked him and his smile broadened to show all of his teeth.

”I should think any child of ours should bear such a strong name.”

The day was long and leisurely as we explored the city, walking into shops and taverns, taking the Vespa anytime we wanted to go further than walking distance allowed. I was beginning to feel more and more hopeful about my pregnancy as we talked and laughed. Mycroft doted on me by purchasing dresses and sandals, jewelry and the like. We had fun no matter where we went, laughing and carefree, talking as we always had about anything and everything.

At sunset, he steered the Vespa to a dock where a small yacht lay waiting and bobbing on the water’s edge. His hand in mine Mycroft escorted me from the scooter and onto the beautiful white craft. On the top deck, a candlelit table was set with fresh cold water and plates and silverware. Always the gentleman, Mycroft pulled out my chair and the boat moved from the island and out into the open sea. Our trek was soft and easy, the wind a soft breeze as the yacht ventured to a destination I did not know. We were served delicious food and I even ate a second serving as the evening wore on.

Mycroft took my hand in his and music began to play over the sound system, “I shall never tire of dancing with you. I believe perhaps, it was you who taught me to dance.” He said and I looked at him confused. Mycroft had gone to the finest boarding schools and learned with Princes and royalty. He pulled me closer with his hand just on the small of my back and breathed in deeply as his hand pulled mine closer to his chest.

”Every man, every woman, everyone has the inner knowledge of the mechanics of dancing. It is merely the perfect partner which teaches them of this part of themselves. You continuously achieve a greater self from me, and I am forever a better man for having you as my partner.” He told me. I nearly swallowed my tongue at his words and felt the lump in my throat.

”You believe in me. Your love alone has given me a life fulfilled. You make me a better woman, reminding me to be soft, and vulnerable when I did not believe I could be. You taught me to trust.” I whispered to him around my tears. His eyes closed as he pulled me close and continued swaying me in the night breeze.

The next morning we awoke on Mykonos, our chateau having a few of the ocean. We spent the next few days on the beach with Mycroft’s tablet, planning nursery ideas and reviewing obstetricians in London. His excitement gave me joy and hope. Our nights were filled with dancing, singing our favorite songs at the top of our lungs, night swims and lots and lots of the best sex ever. When we were tired we napped, we ate when we were hungry, which for me was often enough. Time seemed to stand still, as if we weren’t just on an island, we were on our own planet.

Two weeks later we were flying home, happily laying against each other in the bed on the plane. We were naked and panting from our little tryst. I wasn’t terribly sad that we were returning home, the school year would be starting soon and I’d be teaching musical theatre at a prestigious academy. I also knew Mycroft had forgone work to be with me, and as important as he was he needed to ensure world order had remained balanced. I also knew that we had to return to reality at some point, and reality wasn’t so bad being Mycroft’s wife. We were happy, content.


	82. Chapter 82

With the few weeks of time off remaining, I busied myself with cooking dinner for my beloved and decorating our home more. I had canvases and pictures printed from our wedding and honeymoon, hanging them artfully on the wall. I loved being able to revisit those memories every time I walked by them and it made the place seem more ours. I kept busy as I built my syllabus and prepared things for the theatre where I would hold class, deciding on skits and projects for my young students. It was really exciting.

As I was fussing over the fact I already had a pudge I realized our honeymoon had been long. In fact, it had been exactly long enough that in a few days I would be able to have my first doctor’s appointment. I narrowed my eyes thinking of how sly my husband was. He’d kept us away as long as possible so neither of us would stress about a potential miscarriage. And so once we got back we could find out how well I was really doing. I smiled despite myself because really, the man thought of everything. Still, had I eaten so much on our travels I had gained weight? How had I gotten so tubby so fast? It was annoying and pants were suddenly no longer an option. It was dresses and skirts with waist bands that stretched.

As reality returned, Mycroft was so busy I felt like I barely saw him, so it was no surprise he was running late to our first prenatal appointment. I was upset but knew I'd need to be understanding, he was probably already beating himself up. I was not the person to add more guilt to his life. London already had an autumn chill in the air so I dressed that day in a loose taupe sweater dress and leggings, pulling on a low heeled pair of riding boots. To say I was antsy and anxious was an understatement, because honestly I had no idea what to expect beyond this point. Sure I knew what a Bible Belt Health class was willing to teach, but that was all basic anatomy stuff. And what if I didn't like this doctor? There was so much up in the air I couldn't stand it and realized I might have taken Mycroft's control and meddling for granted. And as if conjured by my thoughts, my cell phone started ringing.

"Hey there handsome." I said in an effort to sound cheerful.

"Darling I must keep this brief. Parliament is in a short recess. The session is running over and I will be late but I assure you I will not be missing this appointment." he told me, rushed but entirely filled with remorse. Sighing I told him I understood and that Ferguson was waiting for me. With our 'I love you's' we were off of the phone and I slid into the jaguar with ease. Ferguson was chipper as we rode deeper into the heart of London, to The Birth Company where the prestigious Dr. Blakely and I would meet and begin discussing my pregnancy. Absently I touched my little pudge and smiled. It still seemed so hard to believe that I was carrying Mycroft's child, that I would get to give him a son or daughter to dote on and love and adore. As usual, as of late, tears sprung to my eyes with joy and anxiety. In an effort to busy myself, I pulled out my phone and began a Pinterest board of ideas and all thing labor and delivery and post partum care. I knew Dr. Blakely would have lots of information, but I was the kind of person that wanted to learn from multiple sources.

The building was sleek and posh, very architecturally modern and fit in with most of its surrounding buildings. The inside was even more beautiful, with light sand colored hardwoods, large glass windows facing the city. The atmosphere was soft and calm, with relaxing music playing and minimalist style decor. I approached the desk and the pretty girl told me to have a seat and the doctor would be with me shortly. I sat close to the door, looking to it often for my beloved to come strolling in. Every little noise had my eyes averting to that doorway, hoping to see his smartly dressed self with brolly at hand. More than anything I craved the calm his presence brought, he was always so controlled and calm, able to appear stoic in the face of fear and adversity. In so many ways I admired that about him, because I was sure I was wide eyed and more than a little panicky. I was looking at an LCD screen showing all of the services offered by the facility for prenatal care, breast feeding classes and the like. There was so much I didn't know, so much I couldn't call up a mother for and ask for advice.

Dr. Blakely was a kind elderly woman, and her personality seemed ever changing. She was soft and excited about her practice and obstetrics, and yet stern and forceful when necessary. I hadn't a doubt in my mind she was an excellent delivery coach. On the walls hung paintings of birthing affirmations one should think on and they were beautiful and encouraging. They read things like 'My baby will fit', 'I breathe for my baby and me', 'I am capable and strong',. With care and gentleness she drew blood and I was relieved I didn't faint. She had distracted me by asking about my line of work and Mycroft, and I was smiling by the time she was done. She advised me my blood pressure was a little high but it was to be expected, I think she could tell I was nervous. I was dismayed to realize I'd gained about ten pounds although to be fair I wasn't sure when was the last time I weighed myself.

"Already dear, this first ultrasound is vaginal so I'll need you to strip down and put your feet in these stirrups." She told me in an Irish lilt. I glanced at the door as she walked out and eyed the gown nervously. Mycroft still wasn't here and I felt tears forming. I neatly folded my clothes onto the plush chair by the bed and wrapped the gown around me open in the front. I eased onto the noisy paper and laid the tissue thin cover across my lap. I had to scoot way down so my feet would reach the blasted stirrups. Not long after I'd settled I heard the door reopen and felt the weight on my chest growing heavier. At Mycroft's absence I wanted to just get this whole thing over with. Then I remembered I wasn't sure if the receptionist knew to let him in upon his arrival, and he could be sitting out there if I didn't tell them to let him in.

"Is my husband here? Mycroft Holmes?" I asked over my shoulder.

"He most certainly is, and he begs of his wife's forgiveness for his tardiness." he said. That voice, that intelligent voice calmed all of my fears in an instant and then he was by the bedside, cradling my fingers in his hands. With eyes boring into mine he kissed my fingers tenderly, as if they were a holy relic. I beamed at him and nodded my head, suddenly quite speechless. Before I could tell him all was well, Dr. Blakely returned with a jovial smile.

"Oh good! The papa to be is here too. Should've seen him pacing about out there. I told him you only needed a moment to change and he could come back." I grinned at Mycroft's cross look and knew he hadn't been pleased at being told to wait. In the next moment, I heaved a deep sigh as the white wand was inserted and the screen to our left came to life. The state of the art equipment didn't show a black fuzzy screen, it was dark but definitely the inside of my uterus. And then there came into view a little glowing bean, looking like a sea monkey or an alien. I laughed happily because it didn't look like anything was wrong, but as I looked at Mycroft I noticed he was being quite studious of the image we were looking at. Did he see something I didn't? The doctor was smiling as she navigated the wand in the lower part of my body, and I was too awestruck and concerned to really acknowledge the discomfort.

"Oh there's the wee thing." she said sweetly.

"And over there?" Mycroft asked finally.

"Oh that's the wee thing too. Mr. Holmes you are quite observant." she answered, zooming in on the second little clump. My mouth fell open and tears sprung to my eyes.

"Too? As in there's 1 and 2?" I asked tearfully.

"Oh yes dear, twins! I had an inkling from your blood pressure and weight gain. I've never been wrong but incase this was a first, I didn't mention it." the doctor told me and when I looked over at Mycroft he was smiling proudly. I kissed his hand still clasping mine and finally felt the wand leaving me. I was in complete shock and awe, feeling my breath leaving my lungs and swiping my tears as I laughed loudly. Our love was so powerful, it had not created one life, but two. Dr. Blakely said she would give us a moment and we would meet in her office. I stood hurriedly and jumped into Mycroft's arms. I heard a sob leave him, his chest shaking as he embraced me. And when I kissed his lips I felt his smile and tasted his tears of joy.As my tender breasts touched his shirt front I was so overcome I wanted to take him on that office bed, but my brain pulled reason and I wanted to know with finality all was well.

Once we left the appointment, we were assured everything was fine and that as I passed through the next two weeks of my pregnancy, my odds of miscarriage would very nearly diminish. I was allowed a glass of wine with dinner as it should lower my blood pressure and wouldn't harm the baby, babies. We had lots of pamphlets and book recommendations on births of multiples and I knew Mycroft would study it very carefully, probably too carefully. His hands were in my hair as we kissed passionately, Ferguson raising the partition for us with a knowing smile. With his hands in my hair he tilted my head back and stroked my face lovingly.

"You have out done your self again my darling. Giving me two children instead of one. I am not sure if that, or the way you have turned the Iceman into an emotional creature of devotion is more of an enormous feat." he whispered hoarsely, tears gathering in his eyes again as he smiled. I again relished in the way he could be so open and vulnerable with me, the manner in which he dropped his professional and un-amused facade to actually feel his feelings. It was truly beautiful to behold, a secret I held for him knowing he could never expose himself this way to another. I grasped his hands so tightly, and looked at him a long moment, memorizing his beauty as he lay his emotions raw and bare for me.

"Our love created two babies. It is too great a thing, to merely produce one life. I believe the way you continuously pour you heart, your soul... your stardust into me. And you, Mycroft Holmes, have given me this wonderful gift. I am... well beyond humbled and overwhelmed with the love you give, day in and day out. How lucky our babies are to call you father." I whispered. Speechless, he merely pulled me in again to kiss me slowly, lovingly, with tenderness that made my very essence quiver.


End file.
